THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


}lijUtmi(JOULt 


THE    COLOR    GUARD 


A    CORPORAL'S    NOTP:S    OF    MILITARY    SERVICE 
m    THE    NINETEENTH    ARMY    CORPS. 

BY    REV.    JAMES    K.    EOSMEE, 

WTlo  vUvtUetred  at  Private  in  Uie  Fift<j-iiet:ond  Massachusetts,  and  tcerU  througlitht  campaign. 

13mo.     $1.50. 


It  is  undoubtedly  the  most  piquant  and  readable  sketch  ever  made  of  the  interior 
iife  of  a  great  army  u»  active  service,  and  made  frotn  the  inside,  by  a  hand  entirely 
competent. 

"His  story,"  says  the  Daily  Ailcertiser,  "is  written  in  a  delightfully  graphic 
epistolary  style,  and  is  really  one  of  the  most  sterling  books  that  the  war  has  called 
into  existence.  It  will  be  read  with  great  interest  by  soldiers  everywhere,  and  by 
civilians  with  equal  interest.  It  forms  the  counterpart  of  Dana'8  '  Two  ^ears  before 
the  Mast,'  and  ought  to  become  as  popular." 

Extract  from  a  letter  from  Hon.  John  Bright,  M.P. :  — 

"  I  have  read  it  with  great  interest.  I  think  it  admirably  written,  and  its  descrip- 
tions of  the  soldier's  life,  his  sufferings  and  risks,  are  the  most  graphic  I  have  ever 
read." 

"  In  all  our  reading  of  the  literature  which  this  war  has  called  into  existence, 
we  have  met  with  no  work  so  loyal,  tender,  courageous,  and  devout  For  the  sake  of 
the  good  cause,  we  hope  it  may  have  the  widest  circulation.  We  say  to  our  friends 
who  are  sending  to  soldiers  in  field  or  hospital,  reading  matter,  include  in  your  list 
*  The  CoRr  Guard.'  "  —  Worcester  Daily  Spy. 

"  There  has  not  appeared  since  the  war  began  to  show  its  influence  on  literature, 
a  book  which  gives  us  so  vivid  a  sketch  of  the  soldier's  life,  so  sharp  and  yet  gracefully 
outUned  a  drawing  of  the  tran.sport,  the  camp,  the  march,  the  hospital,  the  fight  .  .  . 
There  are  few  things  in  our  literature  more  tenderly  pathetic  than  the  author's 
account  of  the  death  of  his  brother  Ned,  whom  all  readers  leam  to  love  and  admire 
before  even  a  shade  of  illness  falls  upon  him.  The  hospital  scenes,  too,  are  dreadfully 
painful,  though  it  is  there  that  we  find  bright  patriotism  and  the  soundest  pluck.  And 
wc  have  here  and  there,  as  must  needs  be  when  we  consider  the  subject,  passages 
which  will  bring  an  involuntary  t«ar  to  eyes  long  dry.  The  prevailing  tone  of  the 
book,  however,  is  cheerful,  hopeful,  candid,  and  altogether  Christian.  It  is  most 
heartily  to  be  commended."  —  Tiie  New  York  Evening  Post. 


THE 


THINKING    BAYONET. 


JAMES    K.     HOSMEE, 


AUTHOK    OP   THE    "  COLOR-GUARD. 


"  I  know  that  armies  of  to-day  are  not  the  brutish  hirelings  of  old.    I  know  that 
the  light  has  spread,  and  even  bayonets  think.''''  —  KOSSUTH. 


BOSTON: 
WALKER,    FULLER,    AXD    COMPANY, 

245,  "WASHi3fGTo:y  Street. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

WALKER,    FULLER,   AND    COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusettg. 


boston: 
stereottped  asd  printed  bt  john  wilsok  akd  sos, 

No.  15,  Water  Street. 


TO  MY  FATHER, 


UNDERTAKEN  THROUGH  HIS  LOVING  EXCOUBAGEMENT, 


Is  affectionately  Inscribed. 


602961 


You  tell  me  doubt  is  devil  bom ; 

I  know  not:  one,  indeed,  I  knew. 
In  many  a  subtile  question  Tcrsed, 
Who  touched  a  jarring  lyre  at  first, 

But  ever  stroTe  to  make  it  true. 

Perplexed  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 

At  last  he  beat  his  music  out. 

There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. 

He  fought  his  doubts  and  gathered  strength ; 

He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind  ; 

He  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind. 
And  laid  them :  thus  he  came  at  length 

To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own ; 
And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  night. 

IX  Memoriam. 


NOTE. 


A  LITTLE  more  than  a  year  ago,  the  writer  published 
some  portions  of  a  diary  of  military  life,  under  the  title 
of  "The  Color-Guard," — a  little  book  which  met  with 
unexpected  favor.  There  remained  in  his  hands  many 
pages  of  his  journal,  which,  according  to  good  author- 
ity, were,  in  interest,  not  much  behind  the  parts  given 
to  the  public. 

The  writer  had  at  hand,  moreover,  certain  records  of 
observations  made  in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  at  an 
important  time,  and  under  unusual  advantages  ;  and,  in 
addition  to  this,  he  retained  a  recollection  of  personal 
experience  at  localities  in  the  West,  close  upon  the 
"  front,"  and  of  some  note  in  the  war. 

With  this  material  in  his  possession,  a  series  of  literal 
sketches  was  at  first  projected;  but,  finally,  a  work  of 
fiction  was  decided  upon,  in  which  the  fact  derived  from 
actual  observation  and  experience  should  be  incorpo- 
rated. 


VI  NOTE. 

This  plan  has  been  carried  forward  in  intervals  of 
leisure  among  professional  engagements,  and  now  the 
result  is  given  to  the  world.  The  present  volume, 
therefore,  though  a  work  of  fiction,  contains  throughout, 
a  large  element  of  fact.  The  writer  hopes  that  his 
book  will  not  be  thought  untimely,  and  that  it  will 
serve,  in  some  degree,  to  instruct  and  interest.  • 

Deerfield,  Feb.,  1865. 


CONTENTS. 


Pack 

Chapteb 

L    Havenbridge 

24 
n.    Doubt  and  Deed •    •    • 

m.     "The  Everlasting  No" ^^ 

48 
IV.    Leonora • 

71 
V.    The  Abyss 

VI.    Cannon  Thunder ^'^ 

Vn.    Chevrons 

197 

VIII.    Fire  Baptism ^■'' 

1  OQ 

IX.     The  Candidate 

X.    The  Old  Wol^^d ^^^ 

1  fi7 

XI.    Meadowboro' 

Xn.    Ebonht ^^^ 

1Q4 
XIII.     Cypress  Bayou 

91fi 

XIV.  The  Xurse "^" 

XV.  Claiborne "^"^ 

,^.^T      A                                                                .....     255 
XVI.    April 

277 
XVn.    Broken  Down 

XVIII.    The  Clew ^^^ 

299 
XIX.    Restored 

XX.    United ^^^ 


THE 


THINKING    BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  I. 


HAVENBRIDGE. 


An  old  minister,  Mr.  Wells,  lives  in  Meadowboro',  a 
pure  and  good  old  man.  It  was  the  custom  to  send  to 
him  wild  boys  that  were  suspended  from  the  University 
at  Havenbridge ;  and  one  such  boy,  that  came  up  to 
Meadowboro'  in  the  year  185—,  was  Herbert  Lee.  In 
the  midst  of  some  college  uproar,  a  force  of  officials 
had  appeared.  Herbert,  while  running,  had  tripped, 
and  the  next  moment  been  seized  by  some  one  in  au- 
thority. His  sins  were  many ;  and  this  affair  was  no 
straw  upon  the  camel's  back  in  addition  to  the  others  : 
so  he  was  sent  to  Meadowboro'.  He  gave  his  impres- 
sions, after  reaching  Meadowboro',  to  his  classmate, 
Claiborne  De  Treville,  as  follows  :  — 

"  Dear  Claib,  —  I  told  you  I  would  write  you  from 
the  country :  so  here  goes.  Meadowboro'  is  a  mighty 
quiet  kind  of  a  place,  though  now  in  summer  time  it 

1*  [9] 


10  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

will  do  pretty  well.  There  are  big  hills  about,  and 
considerable  game  around,  —  squirrels,  rabbits,  wood- 
chucks,  and  that  sort :  so  I  mean  to  have  my  gun  up 
here,  and  try  hunting  some. 

"Rather  hard  luck,  wasn't  it,  to  have  *  Bandy'  so 
close  that  night?  If  I  had  put  out,  as  you  did,  into 
the  grass  instead  of  toward  the  road,  it  would  have 
been  all  right :  but  I  feel,  sir,  like  a  martyr ;  and  I  am 
glad,  though  I  have  to  suffer  for  it,  that  we  made  so 
glorious  an  attempt  to  observe  the  ancient  custom,  in 
spite  of  our  natural  enemies,  the  Faculty.  Who  would 
have  thought  old  '  Bandy '  could  run  like  that !  Some 
night,  when  I  come  back,  we  will  break  his  windows  if 
you  say  so. 

"Mr.  Wells,  who  hears  me  recite,  is  a  quiet,  clever 
sort  of  man,  —  looks  something  like  that  big  minister 
(don't  you  remember)  who  preached  in  the  chapel  the 
Sunday  after  the  '  Cymothoe '  beat  the  '  Cymodoce,' 
because  she  was  so  big  that  the  wind  helped  her,  — the 
preacher,  you  know,  wbo  read  the  hymn,  — 

'  But  oars  alone  can  ne'er  prevail 

To  reach  the  distant  coast : 
The  breath  of  Heaven  must  swell  the  sail, 
Or  all  their  toil  is  lost.' 

"  I  don't  mean  to  dig  more  than  I  can  help  ;  but  I 
suppose  I  must  do  something,  or  I  shall  never  get 
back.  How  is  Gordon  Holyoake  ?  I  didn't  think  he 
would  be  so  roused  up  as  I  hear  he  was,  just  because  I 
felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  chop  him  up  a  little  in  a  comic 
song,  because  he  turned  out  slow.     But  he  is  a  proud 


HAVENBRIDGE .  1 1 

fellow,  bound  to  stand  on  his  dignity,  —  so  mighty  old 
for  his  years  !  I  slept  with  him  one  night,  early  last 
term  ;  and  we  had  quite  an  intimate  talk.  Generally, 
he  is  rather  cold  and  distant ;  but  that  night  I  was  in  a 
sober  streak,  and  perhaps  that  led  him  to  open  out  his 
mind  more  fully.  He  said  what  he  wanted  was  power, 
—  power  over  men  such  as  a  general  wields,  —  such 
power  and  fame  as  Napoleon's.  He  is  smart,  but  I 
never  could  like  him  much. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  come  up  here  in  the  May  recess  ? 
We  can  get  good  horses  at  the  stable,  and  I  can  borrow 
a  gun  for  you." 

Claiborne  De  Treville,  to  whom  Herbert  Lee  writes, 
is  son  of  Judge  De  Treville,  of  Cypress  Bayou,  at  the 
South,  —  lord  of  a  thousand  or  more  acres  of  fine 
cotton  land,  and  four  hundred  slaves.  Both  are  boys 
of  seventeen,  full  of  animal  spirits,  that  effervesce  in  a 
manner  not  quite  becoming.  Dr.  Prince,  President  at 
Havenbridge,  writes  to  Judge  De  Treville,  that  his  son 
needs  an  admonition  from  home.  Thereupon,  the 
judge,  sitting  in  his  library,  with  the  ripe  oranges  nod- 
ding in  at  his  window,  and  the  negro  groom  holding 
his  horse  at  the  door,  writes  to  Claiborne  in  such  terms, 
that  he  becomes  less  giddy. 

The  influence  of  a  pure  and  earnest  man  makes  itself 
felt  too  upon  Herbert ;  so  that  some  months  after  the 
letter  to  Claiborne,  when  he  is  ready  to  return  to 
Havenbridge,  Mr.  Wells  writes  to  the  president  as 
follows :  — 


12  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

"My  DEAR  Sir, — You  are  faithful  indeed  in  your 
friendship  (though  we  grow  old),  insomuch  as  you 
continue  mindful  of  me  in  my  seclusion.  I  am  occa- 
sionally made  glad  by  a  letter  from  you ;  and  through 
you  at  times  have  the  opportunity  to  refresh  my  old 
knowledge,  by  imparting  instruction  to  some  of  the 
youth  under  your  charge.  I  continue  here  in  my  work, 
trusting  that,  as  I  near  the  bound  of  life,  I  ripen  as  I 
ought  for  the  change ;  helping  my  fellows  here  mean- 
time, some  little,  in  the  same  direction.  But  this  letter 
should  refer  rather  to  matters  of  business  than  to  such 
topics  as  we  might  incline  to  open  in  a  friendly  inter- 
view. I  will  not  therefore  dwell  upon  myself,  but  pass 
onward  to  other  subjects. 

"  Herbert  Lee,  the  youth  recently  under  my  charge, 
yesterday  concluded  liis  sojourn  in  this  place,  with  the 
mind  to  return  to  Havenbridge  at  the  commencement 
of  the  approaching  college  year.  It  pleases  me  to 
have  it  in  my  power  to  certify  to  an  improvement  in 
this  youth.  At  first,  through  an  over-fulness  of  *  ani- 
mal spii'its,'  he  was  inclined  to  neglect  unduly  his  liter- 
ary tasks,  showing  much  zest  in  field  sports,  and  so 
fond  of  the  horse,  that  I  found  myself  in  niind  invol- 
untarily applying  to  him  the  epithet  bestowed,  you 
remember,  by  Xenophon  upon  the  youthful  Cyrus, 
tpi/uTTTzoTarog.  Of  late,  however,  I  have  had  pleasure  in 
taking  note  of  a  favorable  and  becoming  change,  through 
which  his  natural  force,  without  suffering  abatement, 
has  yet  taken  a  more  profitable  direction,  expending 
itself  in  the  overcoming  of  such  obverse  influences  as 


HAVENBKIDGE .  1 3 

bar  the  path  of  the  tyro  to  generous  scholarship.  In- 
deed, I  almost  hope  now  for  the  persistent  and  rapid 
progress  of  my  late  pupil  to  the  higher  prizes  of  erudi- 
tion. Doubtless,  hereafter,  there  may  be  ebullitions  of 
his  force  in  unbecoming  directions  ;  but  I  incline  to 
think  it  will  be  seldom. 

"We,  in  whose  veins  the  blood  runs  with  more  tem- 
pered flow,  must  not  forget  that  true  observation  of 
Aristotle,  which,  I  remember,  you  and  I  perused  a  half- 
century  ago,  — that  to  live  moderately  and  patiently  is 
not  a  sweet  thing  to  the  multitude,  especially  to  the 

youno"."  (Td  yap  aufpovug  kcu  KopTepuctoc  ^/v  ovx  V^  Tolg  TToKMg^ 
aKku^  re  Kal  xeoi^. Eth.  Mcom,,  X.    ix.     8.)         IconfcSS 

that  while  I  have  hailed  the  approaches  of  wise  modera- 
tion among  the  fresh  impulses  of  the  youth,  I  have  also 
found  a  charm  in  his  abounding  gayety  and  life.  I 
indulge  the  hope,  that  this  fact  may  indicate,  that,  al- 
though my  hair  has  long  been  gray,  some  part  of  the 
sentiments  of  my  younger  prime  yet  remain  to  me. 
Truly  it  is  with  me  as  with  the  wise  Roman,  —  'As  I 
like  a  young  man,  in  whom  there  is  something  of  the 
old,  so  I  like  an  old  man,  in  whom  there  is  something 
of  the  young ;  and  he  who  follows  this  maxim,  in^body 
will  possibly  be  an  old  man,  but  he  will  never  be  an 
old  man  in  mind.'  ('Ut  enim  adolescentem,  in  quo 
senile  aliquid ;  sic  senem,  in  quo  est  adolescentis  ali- 
quid,  probo;  quod  qui  sequitur,  corpore  senex  esse 
poterit,  animo  numquam  erit.' — Cic.  de  Senec,  xi.) 

"Will  it  be  an  impropriety  for  me  here  to  include  my 
charge  for  young  Lee's  instruction,  and "  ask   you   to 


14  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

enclose   it   to   the   young   man's   friends,   with    whose 
address  I  am  unacquainted?" 

Two  or  three  years  after  Herbert's  suspension,  Put- 
nam May,  a  Junior  at  Havenbridge,  wrote  to  his  sister 
as  follows  :  — 

"  Dear  Lou,  —  It  is  grand  enough  to  have  a  person 
like  you  to  whom  to  write,  —  a  person  you  are  sure  will 
be  glad  to  read  any  thing  you  are  likely  to  put  down. 
I  have  got  Class-day  to  write  about  this  time,  —  the 
most  brilliant  of  the  College  festivals.  It  was  last  week 
Friday,  in  the  sweet  June  weather,  and  I  wish  I  could 
have  had  you  down  from  the  country  to  enjoy  it ;  but 
you  shall  come  next  year,  when  your  brother  will  be 
full-fledged,  and  ready  to  fly  from  this  old  nest.  There 
is  always  a  great  display  of  beauty  and  dress.  The 
young  belles  of  all  this  neighborhood  —  in  the  first  bud 
and  bloom,  on  the  eve  of  their  entrance  into  society  — 
make  a  sort  of  trial  trip  Class-day,  with  every  thing 
fresh  and  rosy.  But  you  need  not  be  afraid.  I  will 
match  my  dear  Lou's  curls  and  country  bloom  against 
the  best  of  them. 

"  Lee  was  the  orator,  and  De  Treville  the  chief-mar- 
shal. Lee  and  De  Treville  I  have  often  mentioned  in 
my  letters.  Bert  Lee's  suspension  did  great  things  for 
him.  He  has  studied  hard  ever  since,  and  used  his 
great  force  and  influence  in  a  good  direction.  His 
tastes,  I  think,  are  strangely  contemplative  ;  though  the 
studies  of  the  course  have  so  absorbed  him,  that  he  has 
not  had  much  chance  to  indulge  his  bent  toward  philo- 


H  ATHENE  RIDGE.  15 

sophical  reading  and  thinking.  He  has  not  neglected 
exercise,  however  ;  so  that  now,  with  his  stature,  he  has 
the  shoulders  of  a  young  Saul.  He  has  a  bright  blue 
eye,  and  good  brow.  To  me  he  is  grand.  I  think  we 
always  hke  what  we  do  not  have  ourselves.  I  admire 
him  as  a  scholar,  though  there,  perhaps,  I  am  not  so 
very  far  behind  him ;  but  when  he  towers  over  me  — 
little,  puny  fellow,  that  I  am  !  When  I  hear  his  strong, 
rich  voice,  and  see  him,  in  a  boat-race,  pull  till  his  oar 
bends  like  a  whip-stock,  and  the  people  shout,  my  feel- 
ing is  almost  a  hero-worship. 

"There  was  much  trouble  at  the  election.  Bert  Lee's 
principal  opponent  for  the  oratorship  was  Gordon  Hol- 
voake,  another  prominent  man  in  the  class,  with  whom 
Bert  has  not,  for  some  time,  been  on  very  good  terms. 
The  fault,  I  know,  has  not  been  Bert's;  but  it  tried 
Holyoake  terribly  that  Bert  was  the  man  to  defeat  him. 
De  Treville,  too,  was  made  chief-marshal  in  spite  of  the^ 
intriguing  against  him.  I  must  tell  you  something 
about  him. 

"  Four  years  ago,  there  was  much  in  his  manner  turbu- 
lent and  haughty.  He  had  his  whole  class  against  him 
once,  for  striking  the  man  who  took  care  of  his  room, 
on  some  small  provocation.  But  afterwards  he  showed 
so  much  genuine  sorrow  for  it,  and  treated  the  poor 
man  so  generously,  that  the  class  came  around.  That 
was  before  I  came.  But,  since  I  have  known  him,  he 
has  come  near  being  involved  in  a  duel.  But  his 
training  here  has  done  him  a  vast  deal  of  good.  He  has 
imperiousness  enough  yet,  but  it  is  tempered  by  a  very 


16  THE    THINKING   BAYOXET. 

elegant  courtesy.  "What  was  rather  offensive  hauteur 
has  become  a  spirited  dignity  that  is  picturesque  and 
fascinating  enough, — quite  irresistible  by  the  girls. 
He  used  to  talk  and  write  with  an  uncouth,  redundant 
fluency ;  but  he  has  been  laughed  out  of  liis  blaze  and 
thunder,  to  a  great  extent.  His  rhetoric  now,  though 
still  warm  and  flowing,  is  well  chastened  and  controlled. 
We  have  enough  here  from  the  South, — lank  and  long- 
haired, insolent  in  manner,  dissipated  in  life,  careless 
in  dress.  I  think  one  can  see  the  kinship  of  De  Tre- 
ville  with  these,  though  in  him  the  coarseness-  is  refined 
away.  There  is  enough  that  is  volcanic  about  him 
still,  and  there  always  seems  to  be  danger  of  a  break- 
ing-out of  the  lava.  He  has  given  away  somewhat  to 
dissipation,  through  some  incontrollable  impulse  of 
which  I  really  believe  he  is  ashamed.  A  kind  of  a 
young  mediaeval  lord  he  is ;  with  a  lip  susceptible  of 
a  haughty  curl,  and  a  nose  above  it  whose  curve  is  like 
what  I  have  seen  in  some  fine  profiles  of  Plenri  Quatre  ; 
dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  lithe,  and  nervous.  It  would 
hardly  seem  out  of  character  to  see  him  with  falcon  on 
-wrist ;  or,  still  less,  wearing  helmet  and  plume. 

"  De  Treville  appeared  finely  at  the  meeting  for  elec- 
tion. The  feeling  had  become  very  bad.  He  declared 
he  would  not  serve  in  the  office  of  marshal ;  then 
wound  up,  'Perish  these  wretched  cliques  !  They  have 
been  a  nuisance  from  the  first ;  an  encouragement  to 
folly,  and  fatal  to  all  true  class-feeling  I '  This  he 
said  with  every  nerve  on  a  quiver.  He  carries  great 
weight,  and  this  flash  of  lightning  seemed  to  clear  up 


HAVENBRIDGE.  17 

and  make  more  pure  the  air.  In  the  better  feehng  that 
came  to  prevail,  Claiborne  was  induced  to  withdraw  his 
resignation. 

"  Last  week  came  the  occasion  for  which  there  had 
been  such  preparation.  It  was  a  great  day,  but  rather 
sad  for  me;  for,  Lou,  I  have  known  this  class  well, 
and  I  hate  to  have  them  go.  The  procession  was 
imposing.  First  came  De  Treville,  with  his  elegant 
baton  and  bouquet,  —  spirited,  imperial,  self-centred  ; 
then  the  band ;  then  Herbert,  in  Oxford  gown  and  cap, 
stately  and  tall ;  then  the  class  two  by  two,  a  hundred 
young  scholars.  The  animosity  was  entirely  healed. 
Even  the  one  who  had  held  out  longer  than  any  of  his 
faction  —  one  who  had  been  heard  to  say  he  would  be 
buried  alive,  rather  than  be  at  the  occasion  —  walked 
forth  ;  his  costume  a  specimen  of  the  most  extraordinary 
tailoring.  So  profuse,  moreover,  were  his  floral  decora- 
tions, one  might  have  thought  that  his  dire  vow  had 
really  been  performed ;  that  he  had  been  buried,  and 
then  had  sprouted  and  come  up  in  the  form  of  a 
locomotive  nosegay  to  give  glory  and  perfume  to  the 
festival. 

"  At  last  in  the  chapel,  they  sat  upon  the  stage ; 
Herbert  blue-eyed,  fair-haired,  muscular,  a  thorough 
Saxon.  He  spoke,  at  last ;  an  unusually  thoughtful 
and  earnest  oration,  with  a  merry  dash  of  humor,  too, 
now  and  then ;  and,  once  or  twice,  a  touch  of  real  bril- 
liancy. I  will  not  quote  any  of  the  graver  parts. 
Once,  stepping  for  a  moment  into  the  province  of  the 
poet,   he   gave    these    few   stanzas,  —  the  whole    thing 


18  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

done  with,  inimitable  archness  and  grace.  I  wish  I 
could  send,  with  the  words,  the  glance  -of  the  eye,  the 
animated  wave  of  the  hand,  the  play  of  the  features. 

*  Ye  thronging  fair,  whose  presence  bright 

Our  hohdaj  has  blest, 
We  guessed  each  maid  Avould  take  delight : 

So  each  was  asked  as  guest. 
They'll  ask  you,  if  you  liked  the  day  : 

Now  when  you  all  confess, 
To  do  our  best  if  we  essay. 

Why,  surely  you'll  say,  yes  ! 
But  yet  should  any  thing  come  out 

Your  happmess  to  cloud, 
True,  you're  allowed  to  speak  it  out ; 

But  please  don't  speak  aloud. 
For  if  o'er  pleasure  lies  a  shade, 

'Twould  grieve  us,  hapless  boys ! 
If  aught  like  gloom  annoys  a  maid, 

Or  if  it  made  a  noise.' 

"It  does  not  seem  so  much  to  read,  but,  at  the  time,  it 
was  wonderfully  taking  ;  and  I  saw  even  old  Dr.  Prince, 
with  his  face  all  beaming,  clapping  away  in  his  seat  in 
the  pulpit,  as  much  pleased  as  any  one.  But  this  only 
came  in  by  way  of  relief  among  much  that  was  very 
serious. 

"Lee's  father  was  pointed  out  to  me  in  the  audience, — 
the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him ;  a  large,  rather  hard- 
faced  man ;  well  dressed,  and  kept  in  good  repair  by 
dentist  and  wig-maker.  I  have  heard  it  was  never  any 
plan  of  his  to  have  Herbert  go  to  college  ;  and,  although 
he  has  done  so  well,  the  father  hardly  thinks  it  is 
success  worth  making  account  of.  He  had  the  ex- 
pression of  a  man  who  thought  he  was  wasting  time. 


HAVENBRIDGE.  19 

I  do  not  see  what  Herbert .  gets  from  him,  except  per- 
haps his  physique. 

"  All  the  afternoon  they  danced  in  the  Hall ;  a  place 
most  grarely  and  decorously  garnished  with  portraits  of 
Puritan  ministers  in  skull-caps  and  bands,  rich  old 
colonial  merchants  in  flowery  dressing-gowns,  and  a  few 
old  dames  in  wonderfully  well-painted  satin  and  bro- 
cade. I  saw  Holyoake  embarrassed  by  a  bright,  wilful 
girl,  daughter  of  Otis,  the  radical  orator.  They  say 
he  has  a  fondness  for  her.  She  persisted  in  beings 
introduced  to  Herbert  Lee.  Holyoake  was  forced  into 
it  at  last,  performing  the  ceremony  with  cool  but  most 
gentlemanly  stateliness.  You  should  see  him  too,  Lou. 
He,  Bert  Lee,  and  De  Treville  are  the  three  Dii  Majo- 
res  of  the  Seniors.  He  has  an  imposing  manner  and 
look,  dark  and  tall,  and  every  inch  of  him  —  as  many 
as  there  are  —  the  patrician. 

"  At  sunset  came  the  dancing  around  the  tree.  Lou, 
I  must  have  a  metaphor,  though  old  Poseycrusher, 
Professor  of  Belles-lettres,  would  send  his  red  pencil 
ruthlessly  through  it,  I  know,  like  Vandal  charger  that  it 
is,  trampling  out  the  blossoms  with  a  blood-stained  hoof! 
From  the  rippling  grass  below,  the  great  elm  rises  like 
Aphrodite  from  the  sea,  flinging  abroad  to  the  air  a 
wonderfully  fine  head  of  hair,  I  assure  you.  And,  like 
the  old  Paphian  goddess  again,  the  elm  that  day  was 
begirt. with  a  cestus.  The  waist  of  this  queen  was  sur- 
rounded with  flowers ;  a  handflil  for  each  one  of  the 
hundred  young  men.  I  sat  in  a  window,  looking  down 
upon  the  crowd.     They  made  the  ring,   and  danced 


20  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

around  the  tree.  Then  came  the  hand-shakinof.  I 
watched  Lee  and  Holyoake,  who  stood  not  far  apart. 
*  There, '  said  De  Trevllle,  coming  forward  to  the  tree, 
—  'there  are  flowers  for  you  to  press.'  I  saw  that 
Holyoake  dropped  his  in  an  indifferent  way,  but  Lee  and 
De  Treville  held  theirs.  Then  Herbert  and  Claiborne 
MTung  one  another's  hands.  I  believe  they  have  a  love 
for  one  another,  almost  surpassing  the  love  of  women. 
Holyoake  gave  his  hand  to  each  coolly,  and  with  patri- 
cian grace.  So  they  stood  together  as  the  west  grew 
crimson  at  the  close  of  the  day,  —  at  the  close  of  their 
youth.  Where  will  fate  carry  them  ?  I  wonder ;  and 
when  will  they  meet  again  ?  They  stood  a  moment ; 
then  Claiborne  hurried  away  to  make  preparations  for 
his  long  journey  homeward, — he  being  obliged  to  go 
at  once.  Herbert  and  Holyoake  sought  each  his  friends 
in  the  t\vilio:ht  to  conduct  them  from  the  colleore 
grounds." 

Herbert  Lee  travelled  in  Europe  for  some  months, 
then  came  back  to  Havenbridge  for  further  study. 
This  was  against  his  father's  wish.  The  father  was  an 
energetic,  unsensitive  man,  who  had  pushed  his  way 
to  fortune  from  nothing,  and  had  come  to  hold  in 
esteem  only  the  qualities  which  help  men  to  this  prize. 
Herbert's  mother,  probably,  was  a  person  of  finer 
mould ;  for  in  his  nature  there  was  marked  refinement 
and  thoughtfulness,  rather  veiled  in  early  youth  by  his 
abounding  spirits,  but  deepening  with  the  approach  of 
manhood. 


HAVENBRIDGE.  21 

With  the  calmer  and  higher  tastes  which  came  to 
him  at  his  majority,  Herbert  read  the  "  Sartor  Re- 
sartus  ;  "  the  book  so  grotesque,  yet  so  terribly  solemn, 
—  so  smoky  and  lurid  with  sulphurous  images  and  the 
mention  of  diabolical  personages,  yet  so  fervidly  earnest 
and  tenderly  pathetic,  —  where  a  deep  solid  meaning  lies 
enveloped  in  a  glare  of  burning  simile,  here  and  there 
showing  out  from  beneath,  like  the  body  of  the  sun 
through  its  atmosphere  of  fire.  Herbert,  Kke  many  a 
young  man,  blinded  by  the  flame,  and  only  indistinctly 
catching  the  meaning,  so  hot  from  the  almost  fierce 
heart  of  the  thinker,  yet  felt  almost  as  if  the  solid 
ground  had  sunk  away  from  beneath  his  feet,  and  he 
were  swinging  in  the  infinite  abyss.  In  the  tumult  of 
his  soul,  and  his  hatred  of  the  insincere  and  superficial, 
he  felt  that,  before  beginning  hfe,  he  must  firmly  estab- 
lish the  great  bases  of  knowledge.  He  begged  for  a 
year  or  two  for  general  study,  before  taking  up  actual 
work,  promising  at  the  end  of  that  time  to  enter  his 
father's  counting-room,  or  undertake  some  profession. 
Leave  was  granted,  but  unwillingly.  Herbert,  strong 
in  body  and  mind,  and  earnest  in  heart,  returned  to 
"Havenbridge,"  and  took  a  room  near  to  that  occupied  by 
his  friend  Putnam  May,  then  a  student  in  theology. 

In  those  days,  the  students  of  Havenbridge  had  great 
boating  fame ;  and  allusion  cannot  be  made  to  Herbert, 
in  that  time,  without  recalling  the  noble  jay  and  vigor 
of  those  champions  and  athletes, — the  drinking-in  of 
the  fresh  sea-breeze,  which  inspired  to  laughter  like  a 
jolly  friend,  and  the  tingle  of  cool,   salt  spray  upon 


22  THE   THINKIXG   BAYONET. 

sweaty  face  and  bared  arms,  touching  up  the  strength 
like  a  whip  ! 

Glorious  it  was  to  rush  along  the  sides  of  Liverpool 
packets,  and  sharp  clippers  just  from  China ;  the  hulls, 
which  a  few  months  before  had  slid  along  the  tranquil 
leagues  of  lacquered  sea,  dotted  by  the  islands  of  Japan  ! 
to  steer  up  to  the  open  ports  of  men-of-war  at  anchor, 
—  many  a  one  since  known  to  fame  !  Glorious  it  was, 
too,  to  go  farther  down,  when  the  east  wind  slept,  and 
the  tide  was  brimming ;  to  lie  on  the  oars  in  the  calm ; 
the  heaven,  beautiful  with  summer  clouds,  watching  its 
own  reflection  like  Narcissus,  blue  touching  blue  in  the 
horizon  to  seaward,  Narcissus  falling  to  embrace. 

And  the  champions  of  those  days,  —  and  to  what  uses 
have  the  vigor  and  boldness  then  developed,  since  come  ! 
Sitting  in  the  boat-house,  looking  out  of  the  window, 
one  evening,  Herbert  heard  the  "thud,  thud,"  down  the 
river,  of  a  coming  boat ;  then  a  vigorous  "  trail  oars  !  " 
then  the  rush  of  the  "Cymothoe"  through  the  last  draw. 
It  was  the  cry  of  one,  afterward  a  famous  General  of 
the  rebels,  in  training  even  then  to  order  his  battalions. 
There  was  one,  too,  with  full  chest,  showing  plain 
through  the  thin  knit  shirt,  with  arms  knotting  hugely 
at  the  end  of  each  stroke,  and  throat  like  a  well-but- 
tressed tower  upon  the  shoulders,  —  a  famous  stroke, — 
a  Federal  General  slain  in  fight.  .  How  many  there 
were  !  Brothers  then  from  North  and  South  !  Then 
they  sat  side  by  side  upon  the  thwarts,  —  no  rivalry  but 
"starboard"  against  "port,"  that  each  might  hold  his 
side.     In  a  few  years,  it  was  to  be  breast  to  breast ;  and 


HAVENBRIDGE.  23 

they  lie  to-day  —  this  and  this  and  this  —  in  bloody 
graves,  brought  low  in  their  young  might,  those  cham- 
pions of  the  oar,  "by  sabre-cut  and  bullet-wound. 

And,  among  all  these,  Herbert  was  unsurpassed. 
Stroke  of  the  "  Havenbridge,"  he  was  in  the  senior  year 
at  the  Riverton  race,  when  the  six-oared  shell  made  very 
remarkable  time.  After  his  training,  on  the  evening 
of  the  race,  he  was  gaunt  as  a  steed  in  trim  for  the 
course, — face  dark  with  tan,  and  frame  like  steel  and 
harness-leather.  Afterward  he  was  a  famed  dory-puller, 
out  in  storm  and  calm,  in  his  little  frame-work  of  ve- 
neering and  canvas ;  on  leisure  days,  out  along  the 
coast,  balancing  over  the  waves  in  his  egg-shell,  which 
the  touch  of  a  finger  might  almost  upset. 

Herbert  w^as  merry  and  bright  at  first ;  but  a  shadow 
was  creeping  toward  him,  which  it  is  not  hard  to  under- 
stand. Soon  it  began  to  fall,  and  we  shall  see  how 
deep  it  grew.  Herbert  was  now  free  to  read  and  think 
as  he  chose.  Only  hints  of  deep  things,  so  far,  had  come 
into  his  thoughts.  His  mental  energy,  so  far,  had  ex- 
pended itself  in  the  mastery  of  rudiments  ;  grammars, 
and  vocabularies  of  languages ;  principles  of  science. 
Now  came  the  step  beyond ;  and  a  benumbing  influence 
began  to  touch  the  warm  heart,  the  cultured  mind,  the 
abounding  energies.  BQs  mind  was  coming  upon  the 
threshold  of  "  The  Everlasting  No." 


24  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  n. 


DOUBT    AND    DEED. 


"  I  HAVE  wanted  to  do  something  in  the  world,"  Herbert 
writes  in  his  journal,  —  "some  noble,  honorable,  manly 
work ;  but  what  does  it  amount  to  ?  and  what  do  we 
amount  to  ?     Of  what  account  is  any  human  work  ? 

"  Once  in  the  senior  year,  we  went  off*  with  Professor 
Muschelkalk  to  see  the  rocks  at  the  ^Devil's  Knuckles.' 

"  I  asked  the  Professor  a  question.  *  Sir,  we  see  that, 
as  the  world  has  gone  on,  race  has  succeeded  race 
throughout  the  geologic  ages ;  the  newer  races  being 
higher  in  the  scale  than  the  older.  '  The  old  and  inferior 
die  out  in  great  part,  leaving  room  for  the  new  and 
superior,  —  so 'you  have  taught  us.  Now,  how  wUl  it 
be  henceforth  ?  Ought  we  not  to  believe  that  this  will 
continue  also  through  ages  to  come?  The  human  race 
is  the  last.  Is  it  not  likely  that  we,  too,  are  to  take  our 
turn,  —  come  upon  times  when  the  conditions  necessary 
to  our  life  will  not  be  answered,  — be  superseded  by  a 
better  set  of  creatures,  be  petrified  into  fossils,  laid  up 
with  trilobites  and  cephalopods  in  museums,  a  link  in 
the  chain  of  being,  liigher  than  some,  lower  than 
others  ?  * 


DOUBT   AND    DEED.  25 

"  The  Professor  slowly  removed  his  cigar,  and  turned 
his  round  face  and  handsome  eyes  toward  me,  replying, 
*That  is  a  great  subject :  I  cannot  enter  upon  it  now. 
I  will  only  say,  that  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  it 
cannot  be  so  :  there  can  be  nothing  higher  than  man. 
He  is  the  end  to  which  all  other  animal  creations  tend, 
from  the  old  palaeozoic  fishes.'  Here  the  Professor 
turned  himself  around  on  the  metamorphic  rock  on 
which  he  sat,  and  resumed  his   cigar. 

"I  respect  the  Professor,  and  know  the  talk  of  his 
school ;  but  there  are  other  naturalists  who  think  so 
differently !  I  am  almost  crushed  as  I  look  back. 
The  epochs  that  have  elapsed,  the  enormous  agencies, 
the  multitudes  of  creatures  !  —  what  difference  will  it 
make  whether  I  do  or  die,  with  my  life  an  inconceivable 
instant  in  these  mighty  aeons  !  It  is  so  appalling,  —  the 
sweep  of  forces,  the  stupendous  lapse  of  ages  !  Here, 
on  my  table,  lie  expositions  of  that  wonderful  develop- 
ment theory.'  If  it  is  true,  and  I  cannot  say  that  it  is 
not  true,  when  and  where  and  what  the  monad  from 
which  the  forms  of  life  have  been  developed  !  It  bursts 
the  mind  almost  to  think  of  tracing  the  series  down, 
layer  after  layer,  through  the  fossils  to  living  forms. 
Sponge  to  shell,  and  shell  to  fish  and  reptile ;  on  then 
through  insect  and  bird  and  beast,  nerve  and  muscle 
and  bone  becoming  more  and  more  delicate  and  highly 
organized;  the  duU  instinct  of  creeping  and  flying 
things  becoming  all  but  reason  at  last,  —  all  tending  to 
the  complex  symmetry  of  the  human  frame,  to  our 
supreme  mind.     It  is  solenm  to  awfulness. 

2 


26  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

"  And  to  think  of  what  may  be  before  !  Where  is  the 
series  climbing,  and  into  what  heights  in  the  unim- 
aginable future  is  it  to  reach  ?  I  say  to  myself,  '  Poor 
ephemeral !  of  what  account  are  you,  and  what  do  you 
know?  Better  creep  off,  and  be  soon  entombed  with 
the  multitudes  of  multitudes  that  have  been  gathered 
before  you  into  the  universar  sepulchre.  Go  you, — 
the  individual.  Ere  a  moment  is  gone  of  these  terri- 
ble lapses,  your  race  will  be  with  you ;  and  purer  and 
higher  beings  will  arise  from  your  bones,  to  tread  in 
your  steps.  Death  consumes  each  race  ;  and  continually 
from  the  ashes  comes  the  ever  more  glorious  Phoenix, 
its  strength  and  beauty  more  than  renewed ;  succeed- 
ing forms,  like  and  yet  more  wonderful,  growing  for- 
ward through  repose  and  agitation  and  ingulfing  cata- 
clysm into  perfection  inconceivable  !  Of  what  account 
is  my  life  and  labor,  my  devotion,  my  virtue  or  vice, 
effort  or  idleness,  sin  or  saintliness?  Pish  !  little  fool,  it 
makes  no  difference.'" 

One  would  hardly  say,  judging  from  this  very  ex- 
traordinary language,  that  Herbert  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
get  ready  for  taking  hold  of  life.  His  father  is  not  at 
all  of  that  opinion  ;  but  in  solemn  thinkings,  which  he 
undertakes  in  his  counting-house,  he  considers  his  son 
to  be  a  young  gentleman  very  much  befogged;  and, 
in  his  interviews  with  Herbert,  "  pshaws "  in  a  very 
contemptuous  and  dissatisfied  way,  if  he  gets  a  hint 
from  his  son  of  what  is  passing  in  his  mind. 

Something  comes  up  now  and  then,  in  these  first 
stages  of  his  doubting,  to  take  him  out  of  his  specula- 


DOUBT    AND   DEED.  27 


tions  ;  like  this  matter,  for  instance,  which  Herbert  teUs 
Claiborne  all  about  in  the  foUowmg  letter  :— 

"I  have  had  no  sleep  since  night  before  last.     I  am 
etiU  excited  from  the  events  which  I  want  to  give  you 
an  account  of.     Before  I  take  any  rest,  or  take  off  my 
rou-b  dress,  I  want  to  write  to  you.     Kow,  Claiborne, 
be  lure  of  my  love  for  you.     In  times  past,  it  went 
beyond  any  love  I  ever  have  felt,  -  perhaps  that  I 
ever  can  feel.     It  has  been  happiness  to  me,  dear  tel- 
low,  to  put  my  arm  around  your   neck ;    and   yet   1 
cannot  bear  your  views.      If  a  time  comes  when  we 
must  stand  breast  to  breast  with  your  section,  I  shaU  be 
one  to  resist ;  even  though  I  must  meet  you,  who  have 
been  my  friend,  as  a  foe. 

"  This  whole  matter  of  Kansas,  and  the  bitter  feelmg 
that  grows  more  bitter  every  day  between  your  side 
and  ours,   has  not  touched  me  much  lately.  _  I  am 
studyino-  hard,  and  have  had  some  notions  that  have 
'rather  stood  in  the  way  of  my  feeling  any  thing  very 
vividly.      The   other   day,  when  a  fugitive  slave  was 
arrested,  and  everybody  was  in  a  passion,  on  one  side 
or    the    other,   my  feeling   in   the    matter   was   quite 
Ustless.     It  so  happened,  however,  that  I  was  at  the 
great  meeting.     I  had  rowed  in  in  my  dory,  with  no 
particular  purpose  in  view  ;  and,  leaving  it  at  the  ratt, 
I  went  up  in  mv  boat-shirt  into  the  streets.     A  crowd 
was    going  toward  the  square,   where  a  bonfire  was 
burnincr,  and  I  fell  in  with  them.     At  the  square,  I 
found  a  multitude  of  excited  people,  and  speakers  were 
talking  from  a  platform  in  the  midst.     O,  Claiborne  ! 


28  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

then  I  heard  Otis,  —  wonderfully  powerful,  and  so 
brave  !  I  had  been  cold,  I  say ;  but  he  threw  fire  into 
every  vein,  and  made  me  pant  and  tremble.  He  tow- 
ered there,  in  the  fitful  light,  like  some  gi-eat  Michael 
Angelo  figure.  Oh,  his  wrathful  voice,  and  passionate 
hands,  and  the  stamp  of  his  foot !  He  moved  me,  till 
I  laughed  and  wept  and  shouted.  I  would  not  have 
believed  that  it  was  in  the  power  of  man. 

"  I  hurried  away  when  he  had  finished,  not  waiting  to 
hear  others.  I  went  at  a  quick  pace  out  of  the  square 
into  the  streets,  where  the  air  came  more  cool,  and 
the  sound  of  the  crowd  grew  indistinct.  I  tell  you, 
Claiborne,  I  thought  of  you.  I  shrink  from  any  thing 
that  will  drive  us  apart ;  but  I  will  let  you  know  what 
1  have  done. 

"I  turned  two  or  three  corners  without  any  special 
aim.  Then,  in  my  heat,  I  set  out  to  see  the  prison 
where  the  fugitive  lay.  I  ran  for  several  squares,  — ^ 
then  turned  into  the  street  in  which  it  stands.  A  man 
just  before  me  blew  out  a  gas-light  near ;  and  I  saw,  as 
I  hun'ied  forward,  that  others  were  being  blown  out. 
All  was  quiet,  except  the  sound  of  my  own  feet  upon 
the  pavement.  Those  who  were  putting  out  the  lights 
moved  quietly  and  rapidly.  I  fell  into  a  walk  to  gain 
breath,  wondering  what  these  movements  could  mean  ; 
when  suddenly,  just  as  I  came  under  the  great  shadow 
of  the  prison-wall,  up  a  court,  from  one  side,  came  a 
heavy  crash,  then  a  confused  tumult,  and  cries. 

"  I  sprang  forward  again.  I  could  see  only  a  little ; 
for  there  was  nothing  but  starlight.     I  could  make  out 


DOUBl?   AND   DEED.  29 

a  throng  of  men  on  the  steps  leading  to  a  door  in  the 
wall.  Over  their  heads  was  a  huge  uplifted  timber, 
which  went  with  a  thundering  crash  against  the  panels. 
I  saw  that  the  bolts  gave  way.  I  was  full  of  passion. 
I  rushed  ahead  ;  making  my  way,  right  and  left,  through 
those  who  appeared  to  be  thrown  out  to  keep  back  the 
approach  of  strangers.  You  know,  few  men  can 'stand 
before  me  when  I  choose  to  put  them  to  one  side.  As 
one  man  went  reeling  from  before  my  push,  he  dropped 
a  club,  which  J  stooped  and  seized.  In  a  moment  I 
was  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  I  saw  the  flashing  of  an 
axe  in  the  light  which  came  now  from  the  doorway. 
*  Crack,  crack,'  went  the  reports  of  pistols  ;  and  I  heard 
a  ball  go  past  my  own  head.  There  were  guards  inside 
who  fought  hard.  By  the  dim  light,  I  saw  one  man 
fall,  and  another  staggered  away  with  a  cut  upon  his 
face. 

^  "Just  here,  there  was  a  cry  from  behind.  Turning 
round,  a  military  company  was  silently  marching  into 
the  street,  at  a  short  distance.  The  rescuers  gave  over 
their  effort  at  once,  and  scattered.  I  did  not  choose  to 
run,  but  went  leisurely  on,  until  the  soldiers  came  near. 
It  was  plain  that  they  had  come  with  no  knowledge  of 
the  disturbance.  I  got  from  their  talk,  that  they  had 
just  come  home  from  target-shooting.  They  were 
bewildered,  and  probably  would  not  have  taken  much 
active  part  in  stopping  the  rescue, 

"  But  the  city  now  was  in  an  uproar.  The  alarm- 
bells  rang.  The  crowd  in  the  square  came  surging 
throuo-h  the  street.     I  knew  soldiers  would  soon  be  in 


30  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

from  the  forts,  and  marines  from  the  ships  of  war  in 
the  harbor.  I  knew,  too,  that  as  soon  as  word  got 
abroad  of  an  abolition  disturbance,  mobs  of  roughs 
would  be  likely  to  gather  at  once.  Hurrying  along, 
with  club  in  hand,  and  my  blood  afire,  I  thought  it 
quite  likely,  that  a  mob,  finding  nobody  to  fight,  might 
sack  •  the  houses  of  some  of  the  speakers  at  the 
meeting.  I  thought  of  the  noble  Otis.  I  could  not 
bear,  that  indignity  should  fall  on  that  grand  head,  or 
rude  insult  smite  that  mouth  of  gold.  '  To-night,  I 
will  watch  at  his  door,  and  keep  guard,'  I  said  to  my- 
self. 

"  I  passed  through  the  streets  in  which  excited  men 
were  gathering ;  then  into  a  more  remote  region,  where 
the  alarm  had  not  penetrated ;  and  presently  reached 
the  steps  of  the  Otis  mansion.  In  my  excitement,  I 
entered  with  but  little  ceremony,  forgetful  of  my  rough 
dress.  He  himself  confronted  me  in  the  hall,  not 
knowing  whether  I  was  friend  or  foe.  His  cheek  was 
still  aflame,  his  dress  disarranged,  his  limbs  and  voice 
trembling  from  exhaustion.  He  hardly  appeared  like 
the  same  person,  —  so  much  had  his  form  seemed  to 
dilate  before  me,  in  his  speech,  with  his  outbursting 
soul.  His  frame  is  really  delicate.  *Mr.  Otis,  my 
name  is  Herbert  Lee  :  I  am  a  student  at  Haven- 
bridge,  —  a  friend  to  you.  The  city  is  wild  to-night. 
An  armed  party  have  made  an  attempt  at  a  rescue, 
and  failed.  I  ^m  just  from  the  prison.  The  alarm- 
bells  are  ringing,  ;  troops  are  on  their  way  from  the 
forts ;    mobs  of  roughs  are  gathering  fast.      We  fear 


DOUBT    AJs'D    DEED.  31 

that  violence  may  be  offered  to  you.  I  am  strong. 
Let  me  be  your  guard  to-night.' 

"Just  here  came  forward  Miss  Otis,  that  Holyoake 
had  among  his  company  Class-day,  you  remember.  I 
had  no  idea  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  orator.  I  knew 
her  at  once.  She  came  forward  in  a  cool,  determined 
way,  in  spite  of  her  father's  gesture  of  disapproval,  — 
•wdth  what  at  another  time  would  have  been  almost 
wilfulness,  but  which,  as  it  was,  was  only  a  manner,  it 
seemed  to  me,  nobly  resolute.  '  Father,  I  have  seen 
Mr.  Lee  before.  He  is  what  he  represents  himself  to 
be.'  I  became  conscious  now,  for  the  first  time,  of  my 
rough  appearance,  and  explained  it.  My  offer  of  guard 
was  accepted.  Mr.  Otis  was  exhausted  and  fevered, 
and  forced  to  go  away. 

"I  shut  close  the  windows  and  blinds  about  the  lower 
story,  making  free  to  enter  the  rooms.  Then  I  waited 
in  the  hall,  once  in  a  while  reconnoitring  through  slats 
at  the  window.  I  felt  that  one  determined  man,  if  he 
were  wise  and  cool,  could  do  something  against  a  mul- 
titude. I  had  not  been  deceived  in  my  apprehension. 
Before  long,  I  could  hear  the  hooting  of  an  excited 
party,  who  at  last,  with  loud  threats,  came  before  the 
house  :  'Down  with  the  house  ! — break  in  the  door  !' — 
and  presently,  crash  against  the  panels,  a  brick  was 
hurled.  I  grasped  my  club  more  tightly,  wishing  that 
I  had  a  pistol.  I  heard  a  door  open  above.  Then 
Miss  Otis  came  do^^ii  stairs.  I  saw  that  she  had  a 
pistol  in  her  hand.  '  Father  is  completely  overcome 
with   his  work   to-night,  and  we    must   defend    him.' 


32  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

Perfectly  calm  and  cool.  *  We  ! '  I  offered  to  take  the 
pistol,  saying  I  could  do  better  with  it  perhaps  than 
with  my  club ;  but  she  drew  back  her  hand .  The 
rioters  were  'swearing  and  turbulent;  but  policemen, 
who  each  moment  be^came  more  numerous,  did  their 
duty  well.  I  stood  prepared  close  upon  the  threshold ; 
but  the  mob  dispersed  at  last,  leaving  the  street  empty. 
Policemen  came  in,  offering  to  stay ;  but  some  of  them 
ill-naturedly  muttering  that  Otis  was  the  cause  of  it  all, 
and  they'd  like  to  arrest  him  the  next  day.  I  sent  them 
off.  Miss  Otis  withdrew.  I  kept  at  my  post  in  the 
hall ;  and,  at  daybreak,  all  being  quiet,  I  came  away. 
I  went  to  the  raft,  and  have  just  rowed  myself  back. 

"There,  Claiborne!  are  we  friends  still?  I  have 
gone  far,  you  see ;  had  a  hand  in  an  abolition  riot ; 
and  stood  ready  to  protect  Otis,  who,  I  fear,  would  be 
lynched  without  ceremony  in  your  neighborhood.  I 
tell  you,  old  fellow,  my  eyes  fill  to  think  we  must  stand 
apart.  I  love  you  still,  believe  me ;  but  I  am  going 
far." 


33 


CHAPTER   III. 


"the   everlasting   no 


» 


Herbert's  enthusiasm  was  only  transient;  for,  not 
long  after  this  letter,  he  wrote  in  his  journal  again  as 
follows  : . — 

"Father  grows  impatient.  *A  perfect  shame,'  he 
says,  'to  throw  away  so  good  a  chance.  Never  shall 
be  good  for  a  profession.  Come  into  the  wool  busi- 
ness. Our  firm  can  control  the  market,  —  a  fortune 
sure  in  ten  years.'  He  is  hard  with  me,  and  narrow- 
souled.  I  would  not  be  undutiful ;  but  I  can  write  it 
here,  where  no  man  will  see  it.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
there  is  reason  enough  for  his  disappointment.  Cer- 
tainly I  am  fit  for  no  profession  or  occupation. 

"I  read  and  think,  and  am  where  I  am.  Is  it  fog? 
or  do  I  see  things  more  profoundly  than  the  men  about 
me?  I  am  bound  down  now  with  Fatalism.  I  am 
not  a  FataUst ;  but  the  thought  haunts  me,  that  very 
possibly  I  may  have  no  free  will,  until  all  my  power  is 
chilled.  I  know  the  couplet,  — where  God  is  apostro- 
phized, — 

*  Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how  : 
Our  wills  are  ours  to  make  them  thine/ 
2* 


34  THE    THIXKIXG   BAYONET. 

But  are  they  ours  ?  If  I  believe  in  an  Infinite  Being, 
I  must  believe  that  he  knows  every  thing.  If  he 
knows  every  thing,  he  knows  the  future  as  well  as  the 
past.  In  his  mind,  therefore,  the  future  course  of 
every  living  creature  is  marked  out.  There  is  my 
course  laid  down  through  the  years  to  come  as  through 
past  years.  I  cannot  alter  it,  any  more  than  I  can  my 
deeds  already  done.  Each  moment  I  can  do  but  one 
thing;  and  that  one  thing  God  has  known  from  all 
eternity.  It  was  down  in  the  Infinite  ^lind,  that,  an 
hour  ago,  I  was  to  take  my  seat  at  my  study  table  ; 
that,  a  few  minutes  after,  I  was  to  rise  to  put  more 
coal  upon  the  fire  (even  these  trivial  things)  ;  that 
presently  I  was  to  open  my  diary,  letting  the  book 
upon  the  edge  of  the  table  fall  upon  the  floor ;  that  I 
was  to  hear  the  peddler  rap  at  the  door,  and  send  him 
away  with  a  short  re2)ly ;  that  these  reflections  were 
to  pass  through  my  mind.  So  it  is  marked  out  now, 
down  to  the  smallest  thing,  at  what  time  after  mid- 
night I  am  to  go  to  bed  ;  how  long  I  am  to  lie  awake 
brooding  over  these  thoughts,  as  it  has  become  my 
habit  to  do,  until  I  grow  weary  and  fevered ;  at  what 
time  I  am  to  arise  to-morrow ;  and  so  on  until  death. 

"  The  lio^ht  bums  low,  for  it  fjrows  late.  I  am  almost 
alone  in  the  hall ;  for  it  is  vacation,  and  the  law  and 
theological  students  have,  for  the  most  part,  gone  home. 
Only  Todle,  a  light  trifler,  who,  I  fancy,  is  in  love  some- 
where, lingers  about ;  and  poor  Bands,  with  his  pale 
face  and  w^eak  voice.  Todle  is  very  dapper,  and  goes 
much  into  society  ;  I  meet  him  sometimes  in  my  solitary 


"the  everlasting  no."  35 

• 
walks,  — kid-gloved  and  silk-hatted,  —  on  his  way  into 
the  city.  Bands  is  a  '  theolog '  of  the  last  class,  not  yet 
settled.  He  goes  off  Saturday  afternoons,  in  black  to 
his  satchel  and  gloves,  except  his  white  bosom  and 
clean-shaved  face,  to  do  his  Sundays'  candidating ;  to 
little  purpose,  I  fancy,  poor  fellow !  for  he  is  the  last 
one  left  of  his  class,  and  I  suppose  there  is  not  much  to 
hope  for  him.  What  could  poor  weak  Bands  ever  say, 
to  do  any  good? 

Yet  why  do  I  pity  him?  It  is  fated,  very  likely, 
that  Bands  shall  suffer  his  misery,  and  grow  leaner  and 
smaller  with  his  wretchedness  of  mind  and  his  penury. 
Or  why  do  I  despise  Todle?  fated,  probably,  to  flirt, 
and  wear  his  kids  !  Ah,  Herbert  Lee  !  you  were  a 
fool  to  be  vexed  the  other  day  when  Todle  said,  '  Ah 
would  be  glad  to  have  honor  of  a  closer  acquaintance. 
Understood  I  was  a  little  of  a  hero,  ha  !  ha !  did'nt 
know  it;  had  no  idea, — but  Miss  Otis,'  —  &c.  So 
she  has  told  him:  can  she  enjoy  him,  —  the  shallow 
fool!  But  which  is  the  fool,  after  all,  he  or  I?  — he 
finding  satisfaction  in  life,  I  only  perplexity  !  (I  fancy 
I  grow  somewhat  better.)  He  thinks  he  is  somebody 
of  account  in  the  world;  but  I,  —  oh,  how  am  I 
bound  down  by  fate,  crushed  before  this  stupendous 
creation  !  Which  is  the  fool?  the  frivolous,  superficial, 
shallow  dandy;  or  the  stunned,  powerless,  perplexed 
man,  who  tries  to  think  !  " 

Is  the  reader  losing  all  patience  with  this  very  ex- 
traordinary and   absurd   young   man?     You   will   not 


36  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

think  it  strange,  that  Herbert's  friends  found  him  now 
to  be  a  most  unaccountable  person,  and  that  some  even 
began  to  fear  for  his  wits.  Meantime,  Claiborne  De 
Treville,  galloping  home,  had  read  Herbert's  letter 
containing  the  account  of  the  riot.  He  flung  it  upon 
the  floor,  then  stamped  on  it  in  his  anger ;  but,  when 
he  became  cooler,  he  picked  it  up  again,  and  laid  it 
away.  When  he  wrote  at  last,  though  it  was  after  an 
interval,  his  pen  moved  hurriedly  and  his  cheek  flushed 
angrily. 

"You  have  gone  too  far.  I  am  not  personally  in- 
censed against  you.  I  presume  it  is  from  your  notions 
of  duty  that  you  take  the  stand  that  you  do,  though 
indeed  you  hint  that  it  was  the  words  of  an  eloquent 
fanatic  that  hurried  you  beyond  yourself,  into  action  to 
which  you  felt  no  inclination  in  your  cooler  moments. 

"I  have  just  come  in  from  a  ride  over  the  estate.  I 
do  not  fear  that  you  will  think  me  boastful,  —  I  care 
not  whether  you  do,  —  when  I  say  there  is  something 
baronial,  as  is  fitting,  about  our  mansion,  in  its  ample 
size,  and  surroundings  of  park  and  woodland.  Behind 
us  is  the  village  of  cabins,  —  as  the  vassals  lived  close 
at  hand,  but  in  strict  subordination,  about  the  mediae- 
val castle.  Only  here,  the  vassalage  is  more  definite 
and  beneficent ;  for  the  world  moves  forward.  In 
the  mansion  is  intelligence,  wealth,  refinement ;  in  the 
cabins,  peace,  a  reasonable  degree  of  comfort,  content, 
order,  and  obedience.  My  father's  books  and  my  own 
are  a  large  library.     The  furnishing  of  halls  and  draw- 


37 

ing-rooms  is  sumptuous.  We  have  rich  paintings  and 
fine  carving,  music,  —  all  the  appliances  of  a  high 
refinement.  It  is  as  it  should  be.  I  am  moulded  of 
better  material ;  with  mind  more  lofty,  and  gifted  with 
more  power,  than  belongs  to  these  black  dependents 
(I  say  it  without  arrogance)  ;  and  to  me  belong  of 
right  these  fine  suiToundings. 

"  ^hold  the  people  well  in  hand,  but  I  do  not  ill-treat 
them.  We  whip  them  when  they  disobey,  but  at  the 
North  you  whip  your  school-children ;  and  it  will  be 
time  for  the  civilized  world  to  condemn  the  use  of  the 
lash,  when  the  soldier  and  sailor  cease  to  feel  it.  We 
whip  our  help,  upon  occasion,  because  they  are  like 
children,  and  not  to  be  reached  by  more  refined  punish- 
ment. My  old  '  Aunties '  here  dote  upon  me ;  and, 
when  I  came  home  from  Havenbridge  in  vacations,  my 
first  visits  were  always  to  their  cabins.  The  old 
'Uncles, 'whose  day  has  gone  by,  doze,  well  clothed 
and  warm,  about  the  doors  of  the  cabins,  until  they 
drop  away  with  tkeir  "age.  The  men  and  women  go 
daily  to  their  work  under  reliable  overseers.  They  do 
none  too  much,  and  are  not  ill-treated. 

"  I  study  to  fit  myself  for  the  power  I  am  some  day 
likely  to  possess.  We  are  the  leading  family  of  the 
district,  —  more  ancient,  more  rich,  than  any  house  for 
many  miles.  I  am  the  hope  of  this  house,  and  am 
looked  upon  as  fore-ordained  for  pviblic  life.  Undoubt- 
edly I  shall  be  the  foremost  man  of  this  section.  From 
Aristotle  to  Machiavelli,  thence  on  to  De  Tocqueville, 
it  is  my  especial  taste  to  master  the  great  political  writers 


38  THE    THIXKING    BAYONET. 

of  the  world,  taking  such  truth  as  I  may  find,  practis- 
ing my  mind  in  overthrowing  their  errors.  I  dedicate 
myself  to  the  work  of  establishing  upon  a  firmer  basis 
in  the  world  our  beneficent  system,  so  far  as  it  is  in  the 
power  of  one  man  to  do  it.  We  seem  to  be  entering 
upon  a  daring  innovation  upon  the  social  constitutions 
of  civilized  countries  as  they  stand  to-day ;  but  it  is 
only  a  reverting  to  the  truer  and  healthier  principle  of 
antiquity,  which  have  been  rashly  superseded. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  this  reprobation  of  slavery  is 
the  merest  novelty?  The  most  profound  minds  of 
Greece  and  Rome  held  it  to  be  in  the  natural  order 
of  things.  It  was  something,  they  thought,  that  must 
always  exist.  So  thought  even  those  who  had  been 
slaves  themselves ;  but  perhaps  you  will  set  down 
Cicero,  Plato,  Aristotle,  as  mere  antiquated  fools.  I 
hold  that  Christianity  does  not  array  itself  against  it ; 
but,  I  forgot,  you  have  gone  beyond  that,  too,  in  your 
section.  I  would  point  you  to  old  Hugo  Grotius,  — 
than  whom  I  know  not  what  more  venerable  figure 
there  is  in  the  literary  history  of  Europe, — to  his 
sanction  of  the  legitimacy  of  slavery ;  and  to  John 
Locke,  providing  for  it  in  the  constitution  he  drew  up 
for  th^  Carolinas  :  but,  of  course,  these  are  authorities 
of  only  the  most  indifferent  weight.  You  would  rather 
go  to  that  third-rate  tragedy  of  Southern's,  '  Oronooko,' 
—  third  rate  in  the  third-rate  age  of  Charles  11. ,  — the 
first  piece  of  English  literature  which  hints  at  the  con- 
demnation of  slavery  :  that  is  good  authority  for  you. 

"  Oh !    this  wretched  condemnation  of  slavery  is  a 


"  THE*  EVERLASTING   NO."  39 

thing  of  recent  growth,— the  toadstool  of  a  night,  as 
worthless,  rootless,  and  useless  as  such  a  growth ! 
The  older  people  of  your  New-England  communities 
can  remember  when  slaves  were  held  among  you.  It 
is  almost  within  the  memory  of  living  men,  that  the 
first  very  noteworthy  protest  against  slaveholding  was 
anywhere  made.  It  is  all  a  thing  of  recent  growth,  — 
as  sudden  as  it  is  absurd ;  as  short-lived  it  will  be, 
as  it  is  unfounded :  for  slavery  is  destined  to  stand 
aloft,  erect,  unquestioned.  The  superiority  of  our  well- 
ordered  system,  where  the  rule  is  with  the  head  of 
society,  and  not  with  the  heels,  as  with  you,  will  be  vin- 
dicated over  your  turbulent  democracy,  where  property, 
intelligence,  and  virtue  have  but  little  voice.  All  gen- 
erous and  magnanimous  traits  it  will  foster  among  the 
masters.  Patience,  content,  and  comfort,  will  belong 
to  the  servile  class.  And  this  unfounded  mushroom 
reprobation  of  your  shallow  enthusiasts  will  pass  away, 
as  the  world  grows  more  wise  ;  as  the  condemnation  of 
the  practice  of  taking  interest  has  passed  away,  —  a 
feeling  as  vain  and  silly  as  this  to  which  you  are  yield- 
ing. It  is  for  the  superior  race  to  control  and  direct. 
To  labor  belongs  to  the  inferior.  Let  each  show  pa- 
tience and  content  in  the  lot  which  Providence  has 
assigned. 

"  I  read  deeply,  nor  do  I  neglect  other  matters.  I 
have  my  blooded  horses.  With  rifle  or  pistol  I  am  a 
good  shot ;  and  he  must  be  a  skilful  swordsman  who  can 
overpass  my  parry  or  resist  my  thrust.  I  am  fitting 
myself  for  field  or  forum.     Not  many  things  like  the 


40  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

adventure  in  which  you  have  been  engaged,  are  needed 
to  precipitate  matters.  I  see  no  reason  to  believe  that 
your  fanaticism  will  speedily  abate.  Certainly  there 
will  be  no  change  in  us.  Against  you,  personally,  Bert, 
I  have  no  animosity.  Indeed,  I  love  you  still,  and 
know  of  no  more  honorable  heart  than  yours ;  but  how 
blind  are  you  becoming  with  your  folly  !  I  respect 
and  esteem  you,  and  yet  it  may  be  that  I  must  fight 
you.  My  fortune,  my  powers,  my  life,  belong  to  our 
cause.  I  am  as  devoted  as  if  I  had  been  sworn  by  the 
most  solemn  of  oaths.  You,  Bert,  have  attacked  us. 
You  have  taken  part  with  the  chief  assailants  of  our 
system.  You  may  have  followed  your  convictions.  I 
have  no  idea  that  you  are  trying  to  be  otherwise  than 
true  and  honorable.  I  hope  it  will  prove  that  you  only 
yield  to  momentary  frenzy.  But  I  cannot  separate 
you  from  the  error  which  you  embrace.  You  are  now 
my  enemy,  and  I  am  yours, 

"C.  De  Treville.'' 

'\Yhat  is  the  effect  of  this  letter  upon  Herbert  ?  He 
feels  it,  to  be  sure ;  but  a  change  is  taking  place  in  him 
which  makes  him  in  a  degree  indifferent,  even  to  such 
a  thing  as  this.  The  gloom  grows  deeper  about  him, 
week  by  week.  For  a  moment,  the  enthusiasm  roused 
in  him  by  the  eloquence  of  Otis  bore  him  away  from  him- 
self;  and  he  felt  no  misgivings,  when,  on  the  night  of 
the  tumult,  he  put  out  his  hand  toward  the  great  beam 
to  batter  down  the  door  of  the  jail.  '  But  the  enthusi- 
asm  subsided ;    the   shadow  closed    about   him   ao^ain. 


"the  everlasting  no."  41 

He  read  Claiborne's  letter  with  a  sigh ;  but  he  was 
tending  toward  a  condition  when  human  friendship, 
or  any  thing  human,  seemed  hardly  worth  a  moment's 
care.  One  form  of  doubt  after  another  seized  hold  of 
his  mind.  Referring  again  to  his  journal,  the  follow- 
ing passage  occurs  :  — 

"^I  remember  once,  when  I  was  a  very  little  fellow, — 
I  could  not  have  been  more  than  six  years  old, — I  had 
just  climbed  the  stairs  at  home,  and  entered  the  cham- 
ber which  was  used  as  the  spare-chamber  for  company. 
The  question  came  into  my  mind,  whether  the  world 
about  me  was  real  and  genuine.  Thought  I,  'Now 
possibly  the  angels  or  fairies  (I  knew  something  about 
both  from  Bible  and  fairy-tales)  deceive  me.  There 
may  be  no  real  things  about  me,  after  all.  This  bed 
with  mother's  best  white  counterpane  upon  it  may  be 
only  an  appearance,  shoved  up  before  my  eyes  quietly 
by  a  sprite,  just  in  time  for  me  to  see  it,  as  I  turn 
toward  it :  so  the  window  there,  with  the  view  of  the 
school-house  on  the  street  behind ;  the  dressing-table ; 
the  wash-stand,  with  its  white  bowl  and  pitcher.*  I 
thought  about  it ;  then  wheeled  round  quickly  as  I 
could  toward  the  bed,  to  see  if  I  could  not  surprise  the 
sprite  before  he  pushed  up  his  screen, — then  toward, 
the  window, — then  toward  the  table;  half-expecting 
to  catch  the  angels  and  fairies  unawares,  and  behold 
the  nothingness  which  I  was  half-inclined  to  believe  lay 
all  about  me  except  when  I  was  directly  looking.  But 
I  only  made  myself  dizzy. 


42  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

'* Sometimes,  as  I  grew  up,  a  similar  fancy  would  come 
into  my  brain,  and  hold  vague  possession ;  but  now, 
as  I  come  to  study  Idealism,  how  strange  it  is  to  find 
these  childish  dreams  come  back  to  my  mind,  and  with 
more  power  than  ever  before  !  I  find,  that,  although  I 
am  older,  I  am  still  puzzled  by  the  same  or  a  similar 
uncertainty.  I  am  no  more  sure  of  the  reahty  of  the 
outside  world,  than  I  was  when  I  was  five  years  old. 

"  Lajst  night  I  dreamed  that  I  was  again  in  the  haU  of 
Mr.  Otis.  The  crowd  came  up  about  the  house,  as  they 
did  before  :  only  in  my  dream  they  made  an  attack.  I 
had  a  revolver,  which  I  fired  among  them  ;  shooting  the 
foremost,  at  which  the  crowd  fell  back.  Then  Miss 
Otis  and  I  unbolted  the  door,  and  drew  the  body  of  the 
man  into  the  house.  We  stood  together  by  the  side  of 
it.  Suddenly  Miss  Otis  seemed  to  have  been  the  person 
who  killed  the  man,  and  to  have  done  it  with  a  dagger, 
there  in  the  haU,  instead  of  upon  the  door-stone. 
Presently  she  became  Charlotte  Corday,  and  the  man 
was  Marat.  There  it  ended.  Now,  it  was  only  an 
incoherent  dream,  an  unhealthy  one;  for  I  know  I  am 
not  well,  and  my  fancy  at  night  is  apt  to  run  wild  :  but 
I  remember  that,  during  the  dream,  there  was  no  inco- 
herence that  I  was  conscious  of.  Indeed  I  remember 
that  I  thought  to  myself,  '  Now,  perhaps  this  is  only  a 
dream.  But  no,'  I  thought,  '  it  cannot  be  :  it  is  too 
real  for  that.'  The  body  of  the  man  was  as  distinct 
to  me  as  my  inkstand  here  now,  into  which  I  dip  my 
pen ;  and  her  face  was  as  distinct  as  the  back  of 
Berkeley's  'Dialogues  of  Hylas  and  Philonous,'  upon 


"the  everlasting  no.*'  ^ 

which  my  eye  falls  as  I  look  up.      A   shudder   ran 
through  me  as  I  fired  the  shot ;   a  falntness  came  over 
ras  we  lifted  the  limbs,  and  the  blood  poured  out  of 
the  wound.     When  I  awoke,  the  sweat  ^tood  "p-  -y 
forehead,  and  my  limbs  were  tremblmg  as  if  it  had  aU 
W  rea  ity.  -How  do  I  know  that  in  another  moment 
I  may  noT  awake  from  this,  and  find  the  books    the 
bust  of  Dante  on  the  mantel-piece,  the  oars  o    my  doj 
in  the  corner,  the  white  light  from  my  PO-1-    ^ 
here,  -  find  them  all  unsubstantial  visions       I  th^nlcl 
.ee  them.     I  do  not  think  I  can  be  dreammg  ;  bu    the 
Ob  ects  in  the  dream  last  night  were  as  distuict  as  these 
are  to  me  now.     How  can  I  be  sure  that  I  may  not 
::ke  up  at  any  moment,  and  find  myself  somewhere  m 
bed  ;  and  this,  mere  phantasm  and  mist . 

"kere  on  my  table  lie  Colebrooke's  Essays  and  a 
volume  o.  two  of  Sir  William  Jones.      I  have  been 

Tabbling  some  in  ^l^^^J^^^f^ 
fellows,  in  their  way,  the  Hindoos  are . 
Lelves  so  infinitely  superior  to  them,  because  we  do 
so  much  in  this  outside  ^vorld  of  uncertamtie  .     But 
this  world  they  despise,  a.  having  no  substance  ,  and  1 
•  1  not  sure  that  they  are  not  right  in  despising  -  as 
shallow    fools,    for    not    seeing    deeper    than    we    do^ 
ieavens!    how  they  plunge   beneath   the   surface   of 
SL;  !    They  only  act  with  their  minds  ;  but  into  wha 
a  terrible   grapple   with   deep   matters   do    they   fall 
Thl     doctrine  of  'Maya'-that  the  outside  world  is 
only  appearance;  that  men,  trees,  hills,  -ers   a.e  no 
„.ore  red  than  the  figures  of  a  dream,  or  the  objects  m 


44  THE    TIIDfKING   BAYONET. 

a  camera-obscura !  What  have  I  to  assure  me  that 
objects  are  what  they  seem  to  me,  or,  indeed,  that  they 
exist  at  all?  "  I  have  read  what  Emerson  says  on  Ideal- 
ism, in  the  *  Nature,'  who  seems  rather  to  encourage 
one  to  accept  it ;  but,  as  I  question  thus,  it  makes  me 
hesitate  about  takfng  hold  of  life.  If  it  i%all  *  seeming,' 
who  can  want  to  do  any  thing?  I  may  as  well  sit  still, 
looking  at  the  end  of  my  nose,  with  my  soul  withdrawn, 
while  *Maya'  rushes  by,  like  a  true  devotee.  It  may 
be  that  this  appearance  is  indeed  but  *  the  frail  and 
weary  w^eed  in  -^hich  God  dresses  the  soul,  which 
lie  has'  called  into  time.'  I  turn  round  quickly  in 
my  chair ;  but  I  cannot  catch  the  powers  napping,  any 
more  than  I  could  in  the  spare -chamber  when  I  was 
a  child.  I  cannot  see  the  nothingness.  The  appear- 
ance is  pushed  up  in  due  time.  Here  are  the  door, 
and  the  red  glow  of  the  fire  before  me.  I  may  be 
dreaming,  or  I  may  not." 

Herbert's  father,  about  this  time,  seated  in  his  private 
office,  after  some  moments  spent  in  thought,  came  to  a 
certain  conclusion.  "The  boy  goes  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  most  utter  nonsense.  When  I  undertake  to 
talk  with  him  and  find  out  what  he  is  about,  his  con- 
versation is  mixed  up  with  such  absurdity,  that  I  can 
make  nothing  out  of  it.  His  health  is  breaking  down, 
through  his  close  confinement,  in  body,  and  in  mind 
too,  I  believe.  I  am  half-inclined  to  think  he  wants  a 
doctor."  This  very  judicious  parent  thought  a  few 
moments  longer,  then  rose  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose 


"the  everlasting  no."  45 

mind  Is  made  up.  He  went  to  the  office  of  a  certain 
popular  physician ;  with  what  result  is  made  kno\vn  in 
the  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  Putnam  May  to 
his  sister  :  — 

"Dear  Lou, — I  must  tell  you  something  about 
Herbert  Lee.  Such  hard  fortune  as  he  has  met  with  ! 
Lee,  you  know,  is  my  cynosure  and  ideal,  —  the  fine 
athlete  !  I  have  seen  him  in  the  university  boat,  — he 
at  the  stroke,  with  the  eight  stalwart  fellows  behind ; 
they  might  have  stood,  as  Caryatides  do,  in  a  row  be- 
neath the  entablature  of  some  great  temple,  so  colum- 
nar were  they  in  theu-  stately  strength,  —  these  picked 
men  !  and  Herbert's  v^as  the  figure  to  put  at  the  cor- 
ner, as  the  stateliest  of  them  all.  He  used  often  to  be 
in  his  dory  on  the  river ;  but,  for  months  now,  he  has 
pretty  much  given  it  up.  From  being  a  cheerful  social 
person,  he  has  become  almost  a  recluse.  I  am  as  inti- 
mate with  him  as  any  one,  and  I  know  the  reason  of 
the  change.  He  has  been  passing  through  a  phase 
of  thought  that  I  know  something  about  myself,  though 
I  never  became  so  deeply  involved  as  Herbert. 

"  A  young  man  who  sets  out  to  think  deeply  is  apt  to 
get  into  trouble.  A  shallow  person  may  get  on  easily ; 
but  a  strong,  earnest  mind,  that  can  plunge  a  little  be- 
low the  surface,  finds  there  a  terrible  under-current  that 
may  sweep  him  helplessly  down.  I  never  have  known 
a  student  who  grappled  so  closely  and  almost  despe- 
rately with  these  mental  perplexities  as  Herbert.  It  has 
seemed  like  a  life-and-death  struggle.     In  his  sincerity, 


46  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

it  has  been  impossible  for  him  to  take  hold  of  any  work 
or  profession,  until  these  difficulties  which  he  finds 
lipon  the  threshold  are  overcome.  He  has  gro\v3i  pale 
and  haggard  with  his  seclusion  and  thought.  As  I 
have  sat  in  his  room,  he  has  talked  lately  in  this  way : 
*  How  do  I  know  that  you  have  any  existence  except  in 
my  fancy  ?  How  shall  I  know  that  I  am  talking  with 
a  real  flesh-and-blood  man,  and  not  with  some  phantom 
of  my  brain  ? '  It  does  not  startle  me  to  hear  this  ;  for 
I  know  something  about  it  myself.  1[  have  cast  it  aside, 
content  to  believe  my  instinct,  which  tells  me  that  the 
world  of  sense  is  a  genuine  reality,  —  a  method  which 
Herbert  has  often  told  me  is  very  shallow.  But  ima- 
gine the  effect  of  such  talk  upon  a  man  like  Herbert's 
father,  a  person  so  rough  and  money-getting,  living  in 
and  for  this  outside  world. 

"  A  week  or  two  ago,  Mr.  Lee  came  to  hi»  son's  room 
with  a  man  of  imposing  appearance,  who,  I  now  hear, 
is  a  popular  physician  in  the  city.  I  cannot  believe 
that  his  skill  equals  his  fame  or  appearance.  After 
this,  the  gentleman  came  alone  two  or  three  times,  and 
once  took  Herbert  to  ride.  It  appears  that  Mr.  Lee 
introduced  this  Dr.  TLIlenbaugh  simply  as  a  friend 
whose  business  brought  him  to  Havenbridge,  and  to 
whom  he  was  anxious  to  have  his  son  polite.  Herbert 
makes  no  secret  of  his  perplexity,  and  the  doctor  drew 
him  on  to  speak  freely  of  his  embarrassments.  I 
believe  he  is  a  shallow  man,  unworthy  of  his  fame  and 
place.  I  do  not  know  that  Mr.  Lee  can  be  much 
blamed.     This  pale  haggard  figure  stands  before  him, 


*^THE    EVERLASTING   NO."  47 

and  tells  his  father  that  he  is  not  siire  whether  he  is  real 
flesh  and  blood,  or  some  phantom  of  his  brain. 

One  day  last  week,  a  carriage  drove  up  with  Mr.  Lee. 
I  heard  him  come  up  stairs,  and  open  his  son's  door. 
*  Come,  Herbert,' I  heard  him  say  kindly  enough,  'I 
want  to  drive  you  out.'  They  went  away  together ; 
and  I  was  immeasurably  shocked,  the  next  day,  to  learn 
that  Mr.  Lee  drove  straight  to  the  Shepherd  Asylum 
and  delivered  Herbert  over  to  Dr.  Benton  as  insane. 
His  health  has  suflTered,  I  know,  from  want  of  relaxation 
and  exercise ;  and  if  his  mind  should  be  kept  on  the 
strain,  as  it  has  been  for  some  months  past,  I  do  not 
know  how  it  might  result :  but  now,  Lou,  he  is  no 
more  insane  than  you  and  I.  He  has  a  strong  contem- 
plative mind,  that  is  grappling  with  unusual  earnest- 
ness with  these  knotty  matters.  I  should  say  he 
needed  a  change,  and  open-air  life,  and  something  to 
turn  his  mind  to  new  subjects ;  but  to  shut  him  up  in 
a  hospital  is  folly  and  cruelty." 


48  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  lY. 


LEONORA. 


In  these  times,  Herbert  Lee  was  dismal.  Part  of  his 
friends  he  had  neglected,  part  he  had  given  up,  and 
part  had  given  him  up.  Really,  Putnam  May  was 
almost  the  only  person  with  whom  he  maintained  an 
intimacy ;  such  a  barrier  of  cobwebs  had  the  fellow 
spun  between  himself  and  human  interest.  Now  re- 
mark, that,  if  he  had  been  consistent,  it  would  have 
made  no  difference.  The  walls  of  the  Shepherd  Asy- 
lum were  just  as  likely  to  be  "  Maya "  as  the  walls  at 
Havenbridge.  If  he  was  the  sport  of  Fate,  it  was 
nothing  that  he  could  help  that  he  was  there  under 
lock  and  key.  If  he  was  of  no  account,  of  course  he 
might  as  well  be  there  as  anj-^vhere  else.  But  Herbert 
found  any  comfort  of  this  sort  poor  dependence  enough  ; 
and  he  wofuUy  feared,  that,  of  all  his  old  friends,  Put- 
nam was  the  only  one  who  would  care  at  all  about  his 
fate. 

Besides,  he  was  not  so  sure  that  there  was  not  some- 
thing wrong.  Ordinarily,  he  knew  young  men  did  not 
get  into  so  deep  a  maze.  He  was  not  at  all  sure  him- 
self, that  there  was  not  something  morbid  about  him. 
And  so  he  looked  anxiously  enough  into  Dr.  Benton's 


LEONOKA.  49 

steady  eyes  and  sensible  features,  as  he  came  to  him 
every  day.  The  doctor  talked  with  him  every  day 
about  this  thing  and  that, — his  studies,  his  ideas,  his 
student  life.  It  was,  as  friend  might  talk  with  friend. 
The  doctor  himself  was  well-informed ;  enough  so,  at 
any  rate,  to  understand  his  patient.  Herbert  knew 
that  he  was  sounding  and  trying  him  all  the  time,  and 
judged  it  best  to  be  perfectly  plain  and  frank :  so  he 
told  every  thing ;  and  the  doctor,  on  his  part,  found  it 
all  very  interesting.  It  went  on  for  a  month  or  two  ; 
for  the  doctor  was  cautious,  and  unwilling  to  pronounce 
upon  a  case  in  a  hurry.  But  at  length  he  settled  down 
upon  this  opinion,  —  that  Herbert's  general  health  had 
suffered  from  too  close  application  to  study ;  that  his 
mind  was  not  at  all  diseased,  though  it  had  been  in- 
tensely active  in  a  somewhat  unusual  direction ;  that 
a  change  of  habits  would  be  the  best  thing  for  him,  for 
the  present  at  all  events.  "  No  wonder,  "  thought  the 
doctor,  "  that  he  startled  his  father.  That  soct  of  man 
has  very  little  idea  of  these  things  ;  but  I  shall  tell  the 
old  gentleman,  that  air  and  exercise  are  all  his  son  needs 
to  bring  him  out  of  his  perplexities,  and  make  him 
tough  once  more.  Indeed,  if  the  young  fellow  should 
go  on  with  his  thinking,  and  maintain  the  same  habits 
of  seclusion,  I  am  not  so  sure  that  we  might  not  want 
him  here ;  but  now  he  is  sound  enough,  —  sound 
enough.  Indeed,  there  is  unusual  vigor  about  the 
fellow  every  way.  How  well  he  met  me  there,  this 
morning,  when  I  brought  up  Reid  to  him  !  and  what  a 
physique  he  has  !  " 


50  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

So,  one  morning,  Dr.  Benton  shook  Herbert  smilingly 
by  the  hand,  after  a  talk,  and  said  he  was  satisfied. 
"  You  are  healthy  enougli,  my  good  fellow ;  but  if  you 
ever  want  to  do  any  thing  in  this  Yankee  world,  into 
which  you  are  born,  my  advice  to  you  is  to  pitch  over- 
board your  metaphysics.  Try  sea-air,  and  take  to 
pulling  again.  You  need  it,  to  give  you  tone  in  body 
and  mind.  Pity  to  let  this  good,  hard  brawn  of  yours 
run  down  so  ; "  and  the  good  doctor  kneaded  Herbert's 
chest  with  his  knuckles. 

So  Herbert  was  free  again.  ]\L\  Lee  was  glad  to 
hear  that  his  son  "was  not  crazy;  supposed  it  must 
be  so  if  the  doctor  said  so,  —  had  a  great  name;  but, 
for  his  part,  couldn't  see,  for  the  life  of  him,  how  a 
chap  could  have  notions  like  those,  and  not  be  crazy. 
At  any  rate,"  he  told  Herbert,  "  I  must  be  plain.  Ten 
years  or  more  now,  you  have  been  at  your  books,  and 
seemed  to  go  farther  and  farther  from  making  yourself 
good  for.  any  thing.  This  nonsense  must  stop.  Go, 
and  spend  the  summer  somewhere,  and  get  built  up. 
Then  you  must  begin.  Either  come  into  the  warehouse, 
or  take  up  some  practical  work,  or  sliift  for  yom'self. 
I  have  borne  all  I  can." 

Herbert  saw  that  his  time  was  short :  so  he  brought 
out  his  disused  doiy ;  had  it  well  calked  where  the 
seams  had  opened  through  its  long  drying ;  then  gave 
it  a  fresh  coat  of  paint ;  got  new  sculls  ;  had  trunk  and 
dory  put  aboard  a  steamer ;  and  went  to  Honomok 
Island  for  the  summer,  —  a  place  on  the  coast,  quite 
out  of  the  way,  very  quiet    and    retired.      Here    also 


LEONORA.  51 

came  Putnam  May,  to  be  a  companion  to  Herbert. 
There  were  a  few  other  summer  guests  ;  among  whom 
it  so  happened  that  Leonora  Otis  appeared,  with  her 
friend  Alice  Granger.  Soon  after  they  came,  Gordon 
Holyoake  followed,  who,  according  to  report,  was  in 
love  with  Leonora.  He  was  held  to  be  a  young  man 
full  of  power  and  promise. 

In  a  day  or  two,  there  appeared,  anchored  off  the 
island,  a  little  yacht,  dainty  in  its  paint  and  arrange- 
ments. This  was  Leonora's  vessel,  built  for  her  espe- 
cial use.  In  this  she  cruised  about  with  Alice  Granger, 
occasionally  inviting  Holyoake  to  sail.  Her  acquaint- 
ance with  Herbert  and  Putnam  was,  at  first,  too  slight 
to  make  her  w4sh  to  extend  her  invitation  to  them. 
Herbert  was  gloomy,  too,  and  Putnam  shy;  so  they 
made  their  excursions  together,  without  any  other 
companion. 

Putnam,  standing  on  ledges  above  the  surf,  played 
Demosthenes  by  the  hour  together;  while  Herbert 
rowed  near  in  his  dory,  or  sat  silent,  listless,  and  un- 
happy. About  the  ledges  hung  the  great  tangles  of 
sea-weed,  sometimes  like  the  cordage  of  stranded  ships, 
sometimes  pulpy  and  bloated ;  sometimes,  beneath  the 
water,  branching  into  fine  and  yet  more  fine  reticula- 
tions, filling  up  with  their  red  interlacing  little  water- 
filled  hollows  in  the  granite,  as  if  the  little  pools  had  a 
circulatory  system.  "Ah,  Putnam!"  Herbert  would 
say,  "  sometimes  I  swing  my  oars  up  on  to  the  outrig- 
gers, and  study  the  polypes  over  the  side  of  my  dory,  — 
the  strange,  floating,  pulsating,  amorphous  creatures, 


52  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

that  come  sliding  in  with  tlie  tide,  pale  sometimes  and 
translucent,  sometimes  a  little  flushed  and  iridescent, 
among  the  wavy  and  spotted  tangles  of  sea-weed.  I 
regard  them  kindly  ;  for  are  they  not  possibly  brethren  ? 
Trace  back  their  stock  and  mine,  and  it  might  be  found 
that  we  had  a  common  progenitor,  far  back  somewhere 
in  the  infinite  ages.  You  shapeless,  languid  polypes,  is 
it  better  to  stand  at  the  end  of  your  series,  or  mine? 
Or  perhaps  it  is  all  unreal  phantasm,  —  the  sea  and 
sky,  the  white  beach,  the  island  with  its  grove." 

This  would  be  said  as  a  sort  of  melancholy  pleas- 
antry, as  near  as  Herbert  could  come  to  cheerfulness  in 
his  sad  frame  of  mind.  Then  his  countenance  would 
become  grave,  the  little  smile  upon  it  fading.  "But, 
Putnam,  it  is  so  serious  and  solemn  a  matter  to  me  ! 
Thank  God  that  you  have  faith !  AYhat  would  I  not 
give  to  have  stable  belief,  to  know  what  was  reality, 
what  work  in  the  w^orld  I  could  best  do  !  I  try  to  be 
sincere.  I  want  to  find  rock  upon  w^hich  I  can  securely 
rest  my  feet.  I  do  not  believe  any  of  these  notions 
about  which  I  talk.  It  only  seems  to  me  possible  that 
they  may  be  true ;  and  until  I  am  sii7^e  I  am  master  of 
myself,  that  I  live  in  a  real  world,  and  am  capable 
of  noble  eflPort,  I  seem  to  be  unable  to  work  wuth  the 
glow  and  zeal  ^vhich  I  desire.  I  must  follow  out  these 
questionings.  I  will  not  blind  my  judgment,  nor  un- 
dertake life  with  any  shallow -philosophy.  Deep  as  my 
soul  can  dive,  I  wdll  go  after  truth.  If  I  gain  ever  a 
noble  faith,  you  shall  see  that  I  will  live  it  out."  Then 
Putnam  would  try  to  make  Herbert  feel  the  faith  which 


LEONORA.  06 

he  felt  himself;  telling  him,  that,  at  any  rate,  his  bodily 
and  mental  health  required  that  he  should  dismiss  his 
ponderings ;  that  he  ought  to  have  regard  to  this. 
Then  Herbert  would  say,  "I  ought,  I  know,  to  give  it 
up."  Then,  in  a  moment,  the  fine,  thoughtful,  melan- 
choly dignity  in  which  he  had  poured  out  his  unrest  and 
disappointment  passing  from  his  countenance,  and  a 
look  of  bitterness  coming  into  its  place  which  was 
hardly  natural  on  the  face,  a  gentle  and  manly  face,  — 
^^ Ought!  what  sense  is  there  in  a  human  being's  using 
that  word,  or  feeling  responsibility?  Very  likely  it  is 
marked  down  what  we  are  to  do,  and  where  we  are  to 
go.  What  is  the  use?"  And  Herbert  went  on,  from 
day  to  day,  listless  and  thin,  and  with  a  heavy  spirit  to 
be  seen  in  his  eyes. 

But  now  there  came  a  change.  A  bright  shape 
suddenly  stood  at  the  portals  of  Herbert's  spirit,  which 
administered  U  sleep-giving  draught  to  the  dark  doubt 
that  had  sat  there  for  so  long,  barring  out  every  cheer- 
ful thing ;  then  entered  to  possess  it.  The  spell  of 
doubt  was  not  yet  broken ;  but,  for  a  time,  its  power 
was  intermitted.  Herbert  fell  in  love  with  Leonora ; 
and  forthwith  light  came  to  the  eye,  and  haggardness 
left  the  face.  His  form  began  to  fill  out  to  something 
of  its  old  robustness,  and  a  good  deal  of  merriment 
came  back  to  voice  and  manner. 

Leonora's  brow  was  broad  and  intellectual ;  her  eyes 
were  dark  and  deep.  There  was  power  af  Avill  and  of 
mind  in  brow  and  eyes,  and  power  of  will  in  her  firm 
mouth.     Her  dark  hair  was"  abundant ;  her  figure,  erect 


54  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

and  resolute.  She  was  accomplished  and  familiar  with 
society ;  could  be  elegant  in  manner  when  she  chose, 
but  did  not  always  choose.  She  often  trod  upon  con- 
ventionalities ;  not  apparently  witli  the  purpose  of 
shocking  people,  but  in  pure  indifference.  Constantly 
restless,  she  appeared  like  a  person  who  had  not  found 
her  place  :  yet  there  was  nothing  like  unhappiness  ;  for 
she  had  abundant  cheerfulness  and  vivacity.  There 
was  a  freedom  of  movement  about  her,  such  as  might 
have  belonged  to  an  Indian  huntress.  For  several 
seasons,  now,  she  had  had  at  Honomok  her  little  boat, 
which  she  managed  herself,  sitting  at  the  stern,  with 
tiller  in  one  hand,  and  the  sheet  in  the  other ;  beating 
out  against  the  east  wind  with  the  oldest  fishermen ; 
runnino^  in  ao^ain  before  the  breeze,  if  it  tlu-eatened  to 
blow  too  heavily ;  dropping  her  anchor  w^hen  she  chose, 
and  furling  her  sail :  strong  and  bold,  a  suitable  mate 
for  a  Viking ;  but  at  small  parties,  or  for  summer  chat- 
ter, not  quite  congenial.  The  boatmen  shook  their 
heads,  and  called  it  rash  business;  but  Leonora  only 
laughed  at  them  :  and  really  her  little  boat  had  floated 
season  after  season  without  accident,  saucily  showing 
the  name  upon  its  stern-board  to  almost  every  craft  in 
that  neighborhood  as  it  slid  past  them  ;  an  operation 
productive  of  much  bad  language  on  the  part  of  the 
more  ambitious  vouns:  fishermen  there.  There  was 
often  an  utter  wilfulness  about  her ;  and  yet,  to  strong 
natures,  a  great  charm  :  and  here  were  Holyoake  and 
Herbert  both  at  her  feet.  Putnam,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  cowed,  and  never  felt  that  he  could  do  himself  any 


LEONORA.  '  55 

sort  of  justice  with  her  :  not  that  she  meant  to  be  cruel, 
but  she  was  so  heedless  !  Or,  rather,  it  was  not  in  her 
to  show  the  fine  tact  and  dainty  management  which  so 
many  women  have;  so,  time  and  again,  when  Putnam 
had  ventured  to  come  out  a  little,  she  rode  rough-shod 
over  him  in  an  Amazonian  manner ;  and  it  was  no 
wonder  that  he  wished  he  was  away,  and  that  Herbert 
nd  Gordon  had  the  field  to  themselves.  He  had  come 
fjr  the  summer  however.  There  was  no  good  excuse 
to  leave ;  and  there  was  really  in  him  a  good  deal  of 
the  quality  that  is  to  a  man  like  rosin  to  a  fiddle-bow, 
which  made  him  want  to  stick  to  his  purpose,  even 
though  it  were  merely  recreation,  whether  the  circum- 
stances were  entirely  agreeable  or  not.  Besides  (let 
the  entire  truth  be  told) ,  although  Leonora  was  hardly 
agreeable,  Putnam  w^as  much  better  pleased  with  Alice 
Granger,  who  was  quiet  and  cultivated,  with  modest 
eyes  fldl  of  sense. 

Herbert,  now  that  he  was  in  love,  was  so  changed, 
that  Putnam  occasionally  ventured  to  rally  him. 

"  A  silly  fool !  "  he  told  him,  "  driven  by  Fate  into  a 
world  of  mere  phantasms ;  deceived  by  the  delusive 
Maya."  Herbert  would  laugh  back,  shake  his  head, 
and  insist  that  the  old  questions  were  not  yet  set- 
tled. He  owned,  though,  that  they  were  in  the  back- 
ground. "This  air  and  exercise,"  he  would  say;  the 
transparent  cheat !  Could  not  Putnam  see  what  it  was  ? 
But  you  know  the  invariable  and  very  simple  conduct 
of  persons  in  this  condition.  Herbert  was  like  all  the 
rest ;  innocently  thinking  no  one  knew  what  the  matter 


56  THE    THINKING  BAYONET. 

was  but  himself,  when  there  it  was,  plain  on  his  face  to 
everybody.  Of  course,  this  state  of  things  brought 
them  all  close  together. 

As  the  tide  came  in  one  morning,  by  Leonora's  invi- 
tation three  of  them  took  their  seats  on  the  thwarts  of 
the  little  boat.  There  were  Gordon  Holyoake,  Put- 
nam, and  Alice,  with  the  lady  captain;  while  Herbert, 
in  his  dory,  sat  ready  to  keep  them  company.  Leonora 
trained  her  crew  like  a  boatswain,  merry  and  wilfid. 
Up  the  mast,  rattling  on  its  rings,  went  the  sail ;  and 
off  they  moved  with  the  light  breeze.  Herbert's  dory, 
brilliant  crimson,  with  white  canvas  on  top,  except 
where  he  sat,  was  just  at  the  side.  He  could  easily 
drasr  it  down  alone  alono^  the  beach  from  its  shed ; 
taking  one  of  the  sharp  ends  under  his  arm.  With 
Herbert  in  his  place,  only  five  or  six  inches  of  the 
crimson  side  showed  out  of  the  water.  Herbert  sat 
with  his  poised  oars,  cheerful  as  he  had  not  been  for 
many  months.  With  the  aid  of  a  few  strokes  of  an  oar, 
strongly  given  by  Holyoake,  the  little  boat  presently 
was  out  from  behind  the  shelter  of  the  land,  and  caught 
more  of  the  breeze  in  her  sail.  Holyoake  laid  the  oar 
away,  and  stood  on  the  deck  in  front,  with  a  boat-hook. 
The  tide  was  just  coming  in.  The  winding  channel 
was  beset  with  shallows ;  and  it  was  quite  likely  the 
boat  might  touch,  and  need  to  be  pushed  off.  Alice 
held  the  loose  sheet  in  her  hand ;  and,  when  they  came 
about  on  the  other  tack,  it  was  her  part  to  haul  over 
the  little  boom.  Putnam  was  set  to  bailing,  first  with 
a  cup,  and  then  with  a  sponge ;  for,  in  a  sail  by  moon- 


LEONORA.  57 

light  the  evening  before,  some  water  had  been  shipped. 
Round  and  round  the  party,  swept  Herbert  in  his  dory ; 
for  the  wind  was  light ;  and,  trim  the  sail  as  Leonora 
would,  the  boat  did  little  more  than  slide  with  tide. 
His  hair  blew  free  from  under  the  chip  hat  he  wore ; 
his  eye  was  bright  again ;  the  vigorous  "  thud  "  of  his 
oars  in*  the  rowlocks  sounded  far  over  the  water.  As 
lie  pulled,  a  fine  strength  clothed  his  neck,  and  the 
fore-arms  knotted  up  like  the  arms  of  a  victor  in  the 
Olympic  games. 

There  was  plenty  of  sprightly  talk.  "Ah!  Mr. 
Holyoake,"  said  Leonora,  with  assumed  pettishness, 
"  do  have  the  goodness  to  whistle  for  a  wind.  You  are 
before  the  mast  now  ;  and  I  assure  you  it  is  entirely  in 
character.  We  have  no  idea  that  you  commonly  whis- 
tle ;  but  the  reputation  of  my  ship  is  at  stake,  —  a 
desperate  time,  and  we  must  resort  to  desperate  expedi- 
ents." Holyoake  pursed  his  mouth,  and  sent  forth  a 
few  long  drawn,  most  unskilful  whistles,  at  which  there 
was  a  laugh  ;  and  Herbert,  settling  back  with  feet  firm 
ao-ainst  the  stretchers,  Avent  whirling  around  the  others 
with  the  speed  of  a  gull.  "What  a  sail  it  was  last 
nio-ht !  "  said  Leonora  ;  "  that  little  half-moon  ;  one  in 
the  sky,  and  one  in  the  water  :  I  do  believe  the  sky 
was  so  much  in  love,  tliat  it  split  its  silver  sixpence,  and 
o-ave  half  of  it  to  the  sea  to  keep."  Then  again,  look- 
in  o*  toward  a  double-towered  light-house,  kept  by  a 
certain  "  Windy  Haines,"  once,  by  report,  a  pirate,  it 
was,  "  There  is  Windy  Haines's  light-house.  Do  you 
know,  those  two  towers,  sloping  from  base  to  top,  and 


58  THE    THINKIXG    BAYONET. 

SO  white,  make  me  think  of  an  ivory-mounted  opera- 
glass?  The  old  pirate,  whom  nobody  ever  sees  or 
knows,  I  believe  sets  his  glass  down  there  all  day ;  but 
at  night  he  is  looking  at  us  over  on  Honomok  with  his 
two  red  eyes.  They  flame  out  as  a  pirate's  eyes 
should."  So,  again  and  again,  with  a  nimbleness  of 
fancy  and  vivacity  that  it  is  hard  to  render; 'with  a 
ready  laugh  and  free  glance  which  put  Holyoake  and 
Herbert  into  high  spirits,  but  which  rather  had  the 
effect  to  subdue  Putnam,  who  bent  to  his  bailing  in  a 
diligent  manner,  glad  to  have  something  to  do  with  his 
hands. 

Herbert  drove  his  dory  ahead  ;  striking  out  to  sand- 
bars and  isolated  rocks,  free  and  swift ;  then  returning 
in  a  sort  of  triumph  to  the  others,  who  were  nearly 
becalmed.  "  O  philosopher !  "  at  length  broke  out 
Leonora,  "  how  can  you  take  such  pleasure  in  torment- 
ing a  parcel  of  poor  phantoms  !  It  is  only  the  '  Maya,' 
O  my  Pundit !  We  are  only  poor  creatures  of  your 
fancy,  painted  on  your  brain  !  "  This  was  quite  sig- 
nificant. Herbert,  it  was  plain,  had  been  very  confi- 
dential with  Leonora.  He  would  never  have  said  any 
thing  to  her  about  matters  that  had  moved  his  mind  so 
profoundly,  and  brought  him  so  much  trouble,  if  he 
had  not  been  pretty  deeply  in  love.  That  is  the  way 
with  young  fellows.  In  the  first  blush,  they  pour 
every  thing  they  know  into  the  ears  of  their  favorites 
without  any  reserve  ;  and  sometimes  it  comes  out  very 
uncomfortably,  as  in  the  present  case.  It  was  plain 
that  Herbert  did  not  like  this  sudden  introduction  of 


LEOXORA.  59 

such  things.  He  bent  nervously  to  his  oars,  without 
making  any  reply,  and  soon  was  far  out  to  seaw^ard; 
not  coming  back  until  the  party  were  approaching,  at 
last,  the  cove  in  the  rocks,  to  w^hich  they  were  bound. 
"  Ah  !  "  thought  Putnam,  "  it  is  plain  enough  now,  if  I 
had  not  known  it  before ;  w^hat  a  ruthless  person  she 
is  !  How  Httle  tact !  Does  she  not  see  that  she  gives 
liim  pain  ?  or  is  she  utterly  careless  ?  " 

Leonora  kept  up  her  gayety.  They  looked  now  over 
the  side,  through  the  transparent  w^ater,  at  the  planta- 
tions of  dark  sea-weed  upon  the  shallows  over  which 
they  slid,  —  channelled,  here  and  there,  with  broad  pas- 
sages,— the  white  sand  at  the  bottom  showing  up,  with 
crabs  and  horse-shoes  crawling  and  swimming  about ; 
and  sometimes  it  was  ahead,  where  the  water  w  as  in  a 
flutter,  as  if  giving  off  electricity ;  the  dart  of  silver 
sparks  and  flakes  seen  among  the  flying  drops  ;  shoals 
of  mackerel  moving  here  and  there.  Finally,  the  keel 
grated  upon  the  little  beach  near  the  cove ;  Holyoake 
taking  care,  with  "the  boat-hook,  that  it  should  not 
strike  too  heavily.  Herbert,  who  had  arrived  before 
them,  and  whose  dory  w^as  drawn  far  up  above  the 
reach  of  the  tide,  took  the  kedge  as  Holyoke  threw  it 
out,  and  drew  them  high  up  upon  the  sand.  They  took 
their  lunch  ;  then,  to  vary  matters,  went  apart.  Hol- 
yoake remained  near  the  ladies  ;  while  Herbert  and 
Putnam  strolled  off  over  the  rocks  :  the  latter  admiring 
the  sea-view,  w^ith  Windy  Haines's  opera-glass  and  the 
ships  beyond  ;  the  former  moody  and  abstracted,  sitting 
upon  the  peaks  of  ledges,  throwing  fragments  of  rock 


60  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

through  water-worn  chasms  into  the  sea.  Every  now 
and  then,  he  cast  an  eye  toward  the  other  group ;  or, 
if  they  happened  to  be  out  of  sight,  he  would  make  an 
errand  to  gain  some  point  from  which  he  could  see 
them  ;  hoping  he  should  find  Leonora  going  off  by  her- 
self in  such  a  way  that  it  would  do  for  him  to  join  her ; 
and  making  all  these  little  subterfuges  to  throw  dust 
into  Putnam's  eyes,  —  Putnam's  eyes  all  the  time,  of 
course,  being  wide  open  as  could  be  to  all  that  was 
o^oinor  on. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  Herbert  and  Put- 
nam made  their  way  back  to  the  others.  They  found 
them  seated  in  a  picturesque  chasm,  beneath  a  huge 
sea-beaten  ledge.  Leonora  w^as  higher  than  her  com- 
panions. She  had  been  reading,  and  sat  with  her  book 
open  in  her  hand,  talking  very  earnestly  with  Holyoake. 
Her  face  was  full  of  excitement.  Holyoake's  counte- 
nance showed,  too,  that  something  had  occurred  to 
kindle  him  ;  while  Alice  Granger,  who  ordinarily  was 
a  social  person,  sat  very  grave  and  quiet.  Leonora 
had  in  her  hands  the  "Athaliah"  of  Racine,  —  the 
powerful  tragedy  founded  upon  the  story  of  the  wicked 
daughter  of  Jezebel,  who  sought  to  usurp  the  throne  of 
Judah ;  and  only  failed  of  reducing  the  nation  under 
her  idolatrous  tyranny,  through  the  address  and  cour- 
age of  those  who  at  last  succeeded  in  arousing  the 
people  against  her.  Generally,  Leonora's,  mood  was 
\\dlful,  and  her  mirth  almost  rough  ;  but  this  was  some- 
thing different.  As  she  sat  now,  there  was  so  much 
power  in  every  feature  and  gesture,  that  one  could   see 


LEONORA.  61 

how,  upon  occasion,  she  might  tower  and  flame,  as  her 
father  did  in  his  times  of  inspiration  before  vast  audi- 
ences. 

As  Herbert  and  Putnam  came  near,  there  was  a 
pause,  and  the  silence  became  awkward.  To  break  the 
awkwardness,  Putnam  asked  what  thej  had  been  read- 
ing. "A  story,  Mr.  May,"  she  began  slowly  to  reply, 
"  of  a  nation  noble  in  its  gifts  ;  glorious  in  its  memories 
of  heroic  men  ;  glorious  through  the  memory  of  a  great 
past,  when  there  were  mighty  and  manly  struggles  out 
of  servitude,  and  against  those  who  sought  to  enslave : 
a  nation  which  at  last,  in  an  evil  day  (and  here  her 
voice  grew  deep  and  tremulous),  through  degeneracy 
stooped  toward  the  dust,  so  that  a  haughty,  sin-branded 
queen,  of  alien  blood,  set  her  foot  upon  their  necks,  and 
polluted  their  shrines.  But  this  was  long,  long  ago, 
and  such  things  never  happen  now."  The  satiric  curl 
which  here  contracted  the  lines  of  her  firm  lips,  was 
something  superb.  The  allusion  to  the  Slave-Power 
was  plain  enough.  It  was  known  to  all  where  lay 
Leonora's  sympathies  ;  but  her  present  mood  was  some- 
thing novel  to  them.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  a 
true  daughter  of  her  sire,  with  soul  full  of  the  same  h(ft 
wrath  and  zeal. 

Putnam  said  no  more  ;  but  Holyoake,  here  resuming 
a  discussion  in  which  they  were  engaged  before  the 
coming  of  the  others,  uttered  a  few  sentences  which 
showed  that  he  was  inclined  to  take  different  views. 
He  spoke  earnestly,  but  with  much  deference  toward 
Leonora,  as  if  unwilling  to  give  her  offence.     Leonora 


62  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

interrupted  him,  casting  her  eyes  down,  and  reading 
from  the  play ;  the  rich  voice,  so  strong  with  excite- 
ment, giving,  with  an  effect  which  Rachel  could  hardly 
have  caught,  the  resounding  verse.  "If  there  were 
only  now,  as  of  old,  some  grand  figure,"  at  length  she 
said,  "  to  confront  this  bitterly  raging  Athaliah  of  to- 
day ! "  She  rose  in  her  emotion,  full  of  most  tragic 
power,  and  read  the  denunciation  which  Joad,  the  great 
high-priest,  pours  out  upon  the  bloody  child  of  Jeze- 
bel, "At  last  thou  art  cast  into  our  hands.  Give 
account  of  the  blood  thou  hast  poured  out."  Then  she 
went  on  with  hot,  rapid  words  :  "  So  guilty  are  we  in 
allowing  our  credit  to  be  compromised,  and  right  to 
suffer !  —  such  apathy  as  to  Duty ;  such  guilt  on  the 
part  of  those  who  stand  for  us  at  the  rudder-lines  ! 
The  very  earth  ought  to  flush  red-hot  under  us  ! " 

The  impetuous  power  with  which  it  came  cannot  be 
given.  Her  hat  flew  ofi",  and  her  black  hair  blew  out 
abundant.  The  simple  and  loose  attire  in  which  she 
was  dressed  for  the  excursion  huni?  about  her  dUatino^ 
figure  with  a  sort  of  imposing  gi-ace.  The  jagged, 
wave-beaten  leds^e  was  a  suitable  backorround  to  so 
giiftnd  a  figure.  Mingling  with  her  tones  was  the  low 
roar  of  the  northern  sea,  stretching  about  her.  She 
stood  like  passion-kindled  Xorma  sending  out  a  stormy 
summons,  through  bleak  air  and  over  wild  fields,  to  the 
Druids,  —  a  figure  to  tower  before  Athaliah  herself,  — 
indignant,  panting ;  her  passionate  soul  leaping  with 
torches  into  her  dark  eyes  ;  a  mien  like  her  father's 
when  he  stood  before  the  people.     Holyoake  rose,  and 


LEONORA.  ^^ 


strode  away  with  rapid  steps.     Herbert  sat  motionless, 
with  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 

Holyoake,  in  someway,  had  come  to  know  about 
Herbert's  reported  insanity,  and  confinement  at  the  bhep- 
herd  Asyh.m«    He  was  glad  to  hear  of  it.     They  were 
rivals  a^ain,  and  in  a  bitterer  manner  than  ever  before ; 
and  he  could  not  help  feeling  exultation  at  knowmg  a 
fact  with  which  he  might  so  fatally  injure  Herbert  if  he 
chose      Of  selfish  nature,  his  passion  blunted  his  moral 
sense.    But,  as  yet,  Holyoake  had  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  Leonora  preferred  Herbert.     She  appeared  to  treat 
both  with  perfect  impartiality,  giving  to  neither  encour- 
agement;   going  on  in  her  wilful,  unconstrained  way  ; 
..enerally  merry,  not  often  showing  the  sterner  mood; 
receiving  the  attentions  of  the  young  men  frankly  and 
cordially,  — to    all    appearance,  herself  entu-ely  heart- 
whole.  T 

A  morning  came  at  last,  which  opened  fair.     Leo- 
nora, in  spite  of  the  advice  of  the  fishermen,  persisted  in 
goin-  alone  upon  a  long  water  excursion.     Upon  be- 
ha-un  Head,  a  promontory  near,  there  was  a  house  for 
-  the"  entertainment  of  summer  guests,  where  were  friends 
of  Leonora ;  and  these,  on  this  morning,  she  set  out  to 
visit      An  old  boatman  of  Honomok  stood,  ready  at 
the  wharf  by  her  vessel,  -  a  man  who  had  been  won  to 
her  by  some  kindness ;    but  she   refused   his   offer  of 
company.     The  day  looked  so   fair   and  calm  at  the 
start,  it  was  hard  to  believe  there  was  any  danger.   Put- 
nam went  to  the  end  of  the  pier.    Holyoake  came  stroU- 
ino-  along  the  beach,  picking  up  shells,  as  if  by  chance, 


64  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

in  time  to  wave  his  hand,  and  catch  an  inclination  from 
Leonora's  resolute  figure,  as  she  glided  away  from  the 
island.  Herbert  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  lay  before  a 
high,  soutliward-looking  window,  from  which  he  could 
watch  the  little  boat  until  she  became  a  iHere  speck. 

Every  thing  seemed  fair.  The  sun  shone  red  through 
the  canvas  as  it  filled  ;  and  the  vessel  bore  away  from 
the  landing  to  the  eastward,  to  give  the  "  Shrouded 
Castaways,"  a  dangerous  reef  near  the  island,  a  good 
berth.  Then  the  course  was  southward,  and  at  last 
there  was  nothing  upon  the  blue  water.  Ilulyoake 
spent  the  morning  in  his  room.  Herbert  went  listlessly 
about  the  island,  or  sat  abstracted  under  the  trees. 
Toward  noon  the  wind  came  in  fresher  from  the  east, 
and,  by  three  o'clock,  it  was  quite  a  strong  breeze.  The 
sun  was  bright  and  clear ;  the  sea  in  the  offing,  fidl  of 
leaping  life  ;  the  cool  brisk  air,  so  salt  and  tonic,  sweep- 
ing against  the  body  till  one  could  hardly  be  conscious 
of  the  impediment  of  flesh  and  bones. 

Naturally,  our  party  at  Honomok  would  have  been 
in  high  spirits  ;  but  now  there  was  occasion  for  anxiety. 
It  was  hardly  safe  outside,  under  such  a  breeze,  for  a 
boat  like  Leonora's,  under  the  most  skilful  management ; 
and  though  her  lady  captain  was  fearless,  and  reason- 
ably expert,  all  knew  that,  if  she  ventured  alone  from 
Sehagun  Head,  she  would  be  in  great  danger.  After 
dinner,  Herbert  and  Putnam  looked  southward  over 
the  sea.  Putnam,  of  course,  had  no  further  interest 
that  it  was  natural  for  one  to  feel  in  such  a  person.  She 
was  hardly  agreeable  to  him,  or  comfortable  as  a  com- 


LEONORA.  65 

panion  ;  but  he  had  become  aware  of  her  power.  Her- 
bert, however,  worked  his  lip  nervously,  and  kept  liis 
eye  upon  the  water. 

It  seemed  impossible  that  she  should  start ;  for  the 
breeze  grew  fresher,  and  Putnam  began  to  rally  Her- 
bert upon  his  fears,  which  were  so  grave  that  he  made 
no  effort  to  conceal  them.  "  It  is  only  appearance  and 
phantasm,  my  dear  sage,"  he  began ;  but  Herbert 
twitched  nervously,  and  shook  his  head.  It  was  plain, 
the  reality  of  things  had  caught  hold  of  him.  Just 
here  he  exclaimed,  and  caught  the  glass,  looked 
through  it,  then  passed  it  quickly  to  Putnam.  A  sail 
from  the  direction  of  the  Head  was  just  coming  into 
view.  Through  the  glass,  it  soon  became  plain  that  the 
canvas  had  the  somewhat  peculiar  shape  of  the  can^  as 
of  Leonora's  vessel.  The  old  boatman  was  summoned 
from  liis  work  near  by  with  a  quick  call,  who  shook  his 
head  doubtfully.  "  She  ain't  standin'  out  near  far 
enough.  With  this  wind,  and  as  the  tide  runs,  she'U 
fetch  sure  on  to  the  '  Castaways  ; '  then  the  Lord  help 
her  !  She's  comin'  kitin,'  too.  No  use  in  tryin'  to  get 
out  to  her  in  my  old  craft.  We'd  have  to  beat  well  out, 
and  the  breath  'd  be  out  of  her  pretty  carcass  afore  we 
could  get  anywhere  near,  grantin'  we  could  do  much 
when  we  got  to  her." 

Herbert  rushed  toward  the  beach.  Putnam  and  the 
boatman  hurried  after  him,  finding  on  the  ground  his 
coat,  cap,  and  vest,  which  he  threw  away  as  he  ran. 
The  boatman  thought  it  useless  ;  but  Putnam  knew  Her- 
bert's skill  better,  and  felt  more  confident.    The  risk  was 


6&  THE    THLNKING    BAYONET. 

great,  but  the  case  seemed  desperate.  Before  they  had 
reached  the  beach,  the  dory  had  been  launched,  and  was 
shooting  swiftly  out  to  where  it  would  meet  the  full 
force  of  the  sea.  Putnam  and  the  boatman  sprang  into 
the  island-boat,  followed  by  Ilolyoake,  who  came  hur- 
rying down  from  a  point  of  the  island,  where  he  also 
had  been  looking  out.  As  the  dory  rose  on  the  sea, 
they  could  sec  Herbert's  face  ;  the  hair  blowing  wildly 
about,  and  the  compressed  lips.  He  kept  the  dory 
nearly  head  on  to  the  sea,  while  gradually  edging  out 
toward  the  "  Shrouded  Castaways."  As  he  rose,  they 
could  see  his  body  sway  from  side  to  side  to  keep  the  dory 
in  trim.  Meantime,  —  catching  sometimes  in  the  crests, 
sometimes  in  the  trough,  sometimes  in  the  dark,  swell- 
ing side  of  the  waves,  —  quickly  worked  the  oars.  Tlie 
breeze  w^as  fresh ;  but  it  had  little  hold  except  against 
Herbert's  back,  and  he  forced  his  way  against  it. 

The  island-boat,  meantime,  steered  a  different  course. 
Herbert,  it  was  plain,  would  soon  be  outside  the  "  Cast- 
aways ; "  but  the  others  bore  away,  so  that  they  were  soon 
in  the  smooth  water,  between  the  shallows  and  the  shore 
behind.  It  was  only  the  ordinary  breezy  of  a  summer 
afternoon.  There  would  have  been  nothing  to  fear,  if 
there  had  been  plenty  of  sea-room ;  for  Leonora  was  a 
person  to  keep  careful  watch  of  the  sail,  and  turn  the 
tiller  with  a  steady  hand.  But,  as  it  was,  the  wind  and 
flood  were  forcing  her  dangerously  near  the  shallows, 
over  which  the  roarino^  surf  was  foaminij  hi^^h.  Toward 
the  northern  end  of  the  shoal,  where  the  bar  tapered 
into  a  narrow  line,  the  surf  was  not  so  high  ;  and,  after 


LEONORA.  67 

a  yard  or  two  of  white  agitated  water,  came  the  deeper 
sea  again. 

From  the  island-boat,  now,  Leonora's  vessel  was 
plainly  in  sight,  careening  to  the  wind.  The  solitary 
figure  sat  at  the  stern.  The  hat  was  gone ;  the  long 
locks  blew  free ;  her  garments,  as  she  rose  for  a  mo- 
ment, the  better  to  tighten  the  sheet  about  its  cleat, 
blew  out  heavily.  She  was  drenched  with  the  wet  that 
dashed  about  her.  "  She  might  clear  'em  yet,"  said  the 
boatman,  "  ef  she  could  sail  a  pint  or  two  closer  to  the 
wind  ;  "  but,  as  it  was,  the  sail  would  bear  no  more. 
The  island-boat  was  now  inside.  Leonora,  though  on 
the  very  edge  of  the  white  water,  had  not  yet  struck, 
and  was  now  close  to  the  extreme  end  :  a  minute  more, 
and  she  would  have  been  safe.  Herbert,  in  the  dory, 
was  close  at  hand.  The  little  boat  struck.  "  A  few 
fathoms  more,  and  she'd  have  cleared  it,"  said  the  boat- 
man. In  an  instant,  .the  white  sail  had  disappeared  in 
the  surf.  Herbert,  with  a  few  rapid  strokes,  swept  after 
into  the  foam  ;  then,  for  a  few  minutes,  all  was  hidden  ; 
and  Putnam  sadly  began  to  wonder,  whether  they  would 
be  able  to  get  the  bodies.  Presently,  however,  the 
dory,  bottom  up,  A\dth  its  crimson  showing  plain  through 
the  white  foam,  came  drifting  out.  Herbert  was  cling- 
ing with  one  arm  to  the  iron  outrigger,  and,  with  the 
other,  supporting  Leonora.  In  another  minute,  they 
were  pulled  over  the  gunwale  into  safety,  —  Herbert, 
exhausted  and  panting  ;  Leonora,  fainting,  with  dripping 
garments  clinging  close  about  her.  But  they  were 
saved. 


68  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

For  a  few  days,  Leonora  was  seriously  ill.  Her  father 
was  summoned  at  once.  At  length  slie  appeared  again, 
pallid  and  weak,  for  an  hour  or  two  each  day  ;  but  not  in 
a  condition  to  bear  much  society.  Holyoake,  day  by  day, 
grew  more  reserved  and  gloomy.  It  was  plain  that  it 
troubled  him,  as  was  natural,  that  Herbert  had  been 
able  to  render  so  important  a  service  ;  but  he  was  too 
proud  and  persistent  to  regard  obstacles.  Herbert,  on 
the  other  hand,  grew  to  be  more  and  more  the  joyous 
man  he  had  been  in  previous  years.  He  was  far  too 
delicate  to  make  capital  out  of  the  obligation  under 
which  Miss  Otis  lay  to  him,  or  to  render  any  but  the 
most  cautious  and  guarded  attentions  to  her  in  her 
weakness  ;  but  he  knew,  through  some  sign  or  look,  that 
he  might  hope.  He  thought  that  now  he  could  please 
his  father.  He  had  something  to  live  for,  and  began  to 
seem  like  the  aspiring,  able,  cultivated  man,  fitted  to  be 
useful,  and  to  achieve  distinction. 

The  weeks  went  past.  Leonora  gradually  grew 
better;  and  her  preference  at  length  was  decidedly 
shown.  From  time  to  time,  Mr.  Otis  came  down  to 
spend  a  day  or  two.  Herbert  drew  in  new  strength 
with  every  week,  and  grew  happy  and  vigorous.  Sud- 
denly Holyoake  departed.  On  the  morning  of  his 
leaving,  as  Herbert  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  group 
of  guests  who  had  come  down  to  say  good-by,  Hol- 
yoake came  toward  him,  bending  his  haughty  head  as 
if  in  courtesy ;  but  he  muttered  at  the  sane  time,  so 
that  no  one  but  Herbert  caught  the  words,  "I  will 
defeat  you  vet." 


LEvOxor.A.  69 

In  a  few  days,  Mr.  Otis  came  down  for  one  of  his 
brief  visits.  He  was  grateful  in  his  manner  to  Herbert, 
as  he  had  always  been  :  perhaps  even  more  tenderly  so 
than  ever  before  :  but,  from  that  time,  he  seemed  to  take 
great  care  to  seclude  Leonora.  It  began  to  be  whis- 
pered about  among  the  guests,  that  Mr.  Lee  was  insane. 
The  story  was,  that  he  had  been  confined  in  the  Shepherd 
Asylum ;  that  the  physician  in  charge  had  not  compre- 
hended his  case,  and  had  discharged  him  too  soon.  If 
any  doubted,  it  was  said  that  the  noted  Dr.  Tillenbaugh 
was  very  decided  in  the  matter.  Mr.  Lee  had  been  his 
patient ;  and  it  was  by  his  advice  that  he  had  been  sent 
to  the  asylum.  Dr.  Benton  was  thought  to  have  used 
so  little  judgment  in  the  case,  as  to  be  in  some  danger 
of  losing  his  position.  Herbert  noticed  a  change  in  the 
manner  in  which  he  was  treated  by  the  guests.  That 
Leonora  held  herself  aloof  from  him,  he  understood  to 
be  her  own  free  act.  Putnam  battled  his  oause  stoutly  ; 
but  what  was  he  against  such  an  authority  as  Dr.  Til- 
lenbaugh ?  Every  one  now  had  "  remarked  something 
strange  in  Mr.  Lee's  conduct;"  a  "moodiness,"  or  an 
"  excitability."  Some  thought  it  was  hardly  safe  that 
he  should  be  there,  smelt  fire  in  the  night,  and  noticed 
a  "wild  light"  in  his  eyes.  Herbert,  of  course,  heai*d 
it  all,  and  imagined  the  case  to  be  far  worse  than  it  really 
was.  At  length,  one  afternoon,  who  should  appear  but 
his  father  and  Dr.  Tillenbaugh.  Mr.  Lee  looked  per- 
plexed and  harassed.  Tillenbaugh  deported  himself  in 
his  usual  gracious  manner.  Herbert  knew  they  had 
come  for  him. 


70  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

That  night,  the  wind  blew  hard.  AVindows  and  doors 
were  barred ;  and  hoarse,  about  tlie  ledges  and  the 
"  Shrouded  Castaways,"  roared  the  surf.  In-bound 
ships  stood  out  to  sea  again,  to  be  away  from  the  lee- 
shore ;  coasters  made  port  at  sundown,  fearing  the  gale 
at  night.  That  night,  Herbert  Lee  disappeared.  In  the 
morning,  pieces  of  the  crimson  sides  of  his  dory  were 
found  on  the  shore  opposite  the  island.  There  was  no 
other  trace.  It  was  conjectured,  that,  in  a  mad  freak, 
he  had  got  up  in  the  storm,  gone  out  to  row,  and  been 
drowned.  The  body  was  not  found  ;  but  the  tide  miglit 
have  drifted  that  to  sea,  it  was  said. 


THE    ABYSS.  71 


CHAPTER  Y. 


THE      ABYSS. 


Herbert's  father  did  all  that  could  be  done  to  find 
some  trace  of  his  son.  It  was  in  vain ;  and  he  came  to 
believe  that  he  must  have  been  drowned.  To  launch 
out  in  such  a  storm  seemed  to  him  a  plainer  proof  than 
any  of  Herbert's  insanity.  Through  this  madness,  the 
father  beheved  that  Herbert  had  come  to  his  death ;  and 
he  mourned  over  him  with  genuine  sorrow.  It  was  the 
general  belief,  that  Herbert  had  been  drowned.  Leo- 
nora lay  for  many  weeks  seriously  ill.  Holyoake  stood 
aghast  before  the  serious  consequences  of  the  action  he 
had  taken.  It  was  through  a  bribe,  held  out  by  him  to 
Tillenbaugh,  that  that  person  had  taken  the  course  he 
did,  in  proclaiming  the  unsoundness  of  Herbert's  mind. 
Holyoake  was  haughty  and  unscrupulous,  and  had 
meant,  by  every  means  he  could  use,  to  separate  Her- 
bert and  Leonora  :  but  the  result  of  his  plotting  alarmed 
him.  His  passion  for  Leonora  remained  unabated  how- 
ever, and  he  only  waited  for  opportunity  to  renew  his 
suit. 

At  this  time  the  world  was  in  turmoil  with  great 
public  agitations.     Holyoake  had  been,   at  one  time, 


72  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

thought  cold.  Suddenly  his  manner  changed,  and  he 
appeared  to  throw  himself  with  enthusiasm  into  the 
discussions  and  measures  which  preceded  the  outbreak 
of  the  war.  It  was,  in  great  part,  because  he  knew  that 
Leonora  would  look  with  favor  upon  no  one  who  did 
not  show  this  spirit.  To  win  her  became  his  ruling 
purpose.  There  was  in  his  heart,  beside,  selfish  desire 
for  glory  and  power.  He  foresaw,  to  some  extent,  the 
course  of  events,  and  felt  that  the  surest  path  to  fame 
was,  at  the  stime  time,  the  only  possible  path  to  the 
woman  he  loved.  Putnam  alone  felt  entirely  hopeful 
that  Herbert  still  survived.  Now  that  Herbert  and  Clai- 
borne were  estranged,  he  knew  that  he  stood  closer  to 
Herbert  than  any  male  friend ;  and  he  faithfully  played 
the  part  of  a  friend.  He  fought  with  ardor  in  Her- 
bert's cause.  He  tried  to  disabuse  Mr.  Lee  of  his 
impression  that  Herbert  was  insane,  without  much 
success.  He  talked  with  Mr.  Otis,  and  only  waited  for 
Leonora  to  gain  strength,  to  approach  her  upon  the 
same  topic.  Dr.  Benton  alone  said  confidently,  that 
Herbert  "  was  as  fine  a  young  fellow  as  he  ever  saw. 
There  was  no  adequate  proof  of  his  death.  Such  a 
frame  !  A  doctor,  you  know,  ]\Ir.  May,  notices  such 
things.  Then  such  a  thoughtful  mind,  and  so  athirst 
after  truth  !  There  is  no  insanity  there,  you  may  be 
sure ;  and  this  escapade  of  his  is  not  strange.  Let  his 
friends  bear  with  him,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  be  proud 
of  him  in  the  end." 

After  a  considerable   interval,    the    following   letter 
came  to  Putnam.     Bitterly  cynical  as  it  was,   Putnam 


THE   ABYSS. 


73 


yet  read  it  with  joy.  His  friend,  at  any  rate,  was 
living ;  and,  knowing  as  he  did  Herbert's  true  nature, 
he  felt  sure  that  his  spirit  could  not  long  remain  in  this 
unhappy  frame. 

From  Herbert  Lee  to  Putnam  May. 

"  I  must  do  something  to  kill  Time  ;  and  I  have  got 
myself  into  such  habits,  that  I  can  stab  him  better  with 
the  nib  of  a  pen  than  in  any  other  way.     It  is  easier  to 
write  what  somebody  will  read,  than  to  write  only  for 
yourself;  so  I  shall  write  to  you.     Once  I  should  have 
written  to  Claiborne  De  Treville,  whom  in  old  times  I 
loved  —  in  the  days  when  I  could  love.     What  miserable 
folly  !     I  write  to  you,  because  you,  more  than  any  one 
I  know,  will  take  an  interest  in  what  I  say  about  my- 
self.    Perhaps  you  will  not  care.     Oh,  well !  it  makes 
no  difierence.     I  only  write  to  kill  the  time.     It  will 
do  no  good  for  you  to  try  to  find  out  where  I  am,   as  I 
do  not  choose  now  to  be  discovered.     This  letter  will 
be  mailed  at  a  point  hundreds  of  miles  from  where  I 
am.     I  have  been  silent  some  months ;   and  now  it  is 
the  mere  whim  of  a  moment  which  makes  me  feel  like 
sending  these  lines  back  to  the  world  which  I  have  for- 
saken, and  for  which  I  care  so  little. 

"  I  had  come  to  love  Leonora  Otis ;  fool,  O  pitiful 
fool  that  I  was,  to  let  that  miserable  warmth  come 
into  my  heart  toward  any  human  thing !  They  called 
me  insane,  and  turned  against  me  because  I  was.  It 
was  well  enough.  I  needed  to  be  waked  up  from  my 
wretched  folly.      Insane!      I  know   my  thinking  has 

4 


74  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

taken  deeper  hold  of  me  than  it  does  of  most  men.  I 
will  not  think  it  betokens  any  thing  unhealthy.  At  the 
island,  first  the  recreation,  then  my  foolish  love,  were 
bringing  me  back  into  the  insanity  in  which  most  of  this 
shallow  human  race  exist.  My  thinking  was  all  going 
into  the  background  ;  and  I  began  to  believe,  fool  that 
I  was,  that  I  could  live  as  men  do,  take  some  part  in 
life,  feel  ambition.     Pish  !  I  am  well  over  that. 

"  I  will  write  down  something  as  to  what  I  have 
done.  Read  it  or  not,  as  you  choose.  If  you  burn  it, 
it  will  make  no  difference.  I  do  not  write  to  please 
anybody,  —  only  to  kill  time.  I  left  the  island  in  the 
storm.  As  I  stood  on  the  beach,  just  before  launching 
my  dory,  the  rain  beat  down,  and  the  gale  thundered 
fiercely  about.  The  surf  outside  I  could  hear,  roaring 
hoarsely ;  but  behind  the  island,  with  the  wind  astern,  I 
was  not  afraid  but  what  I  could  make  the  boat  live. 
I  did  not  care  much  whether  she  went  down  or  not.  I 
do  not  care  now.  For  all  I  care,  they  might  have 
drawn  my  body  ashore  the  next  morning,  and  given  me 
a  grave  in  the  bleak  burying-ground  there.  I  tell  you 
I  had  the  heart  of  old  Lear ;  and  through  the  roar  of 
the  storm,  out  on  the  waters,  I  screamed  to  the  winds 
as  he  did.  It  has  become  second  nature  to  me  to 
balance  along  on  the  top  of  waves.  I  am  sure  the  will 
had  not  much  to  do  with  my  reaching  the  mainland  in 
safety  that  night.  I  would  about  as  lief  have  gone 
down  as  not,  and  I  feel  so  now.  I  suppose  the  dory 
was  found  next  day,  and  perhaps  you  concluded  I  was 
drowned.     As  she  touched  the  beach,  I  left  her ;  and  I 


THE    ABYSS.  "^^ 

dare  say  she  ^vas  well  hammered  up  before  morning. 
I  did  not  want  it  any  more. 

"  I  took  the  train  which  went  through  the  town  near, 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  came  to  the  city.     I 
did  not  care  where  I  went :  only  I  was  determmed  to 
get  away.     In  the  city  I  went  to  a  Jew's  shop,  and 
bouc^ht  a  stout,  coarse  laborer's  suit ;  then  started  agam. 
So  long  as  I  cared  to  hve,  I  meant  that  the  bread 
should  come  through  my  hands.      I  could  do  it  weU 
enough.     My  face  was  brown  from  tan  caught  upon 
the  sea ;  my'palms,  calloused  from  the  oar,  could  carry 
burdens,   or  handle  pick  or  shovel.     My  coarse  blue 
flannel  shirt  suited  me  well.     I  was  in  the  trim  of  a 
boxer,  after  his  training.     I  cared  not  whether  I  broke 
stones,  or  went  before  the  mast.     I  rode  in  a  second- 
class  car,  with  emigrants,  and  people  of  the  class  into 
which  I  had  come. 

"I  travelled  for  days,  coming  at  last  to  a  dreary 
place,  where,  from  mere  whim,  I  stopped.  What  do 
I  care  for  dreariness  !  I  want  no  better  comfort  than 
a  sentence  now  and  then  from  Epictetus,  which  comes 
into  my  mind.  These  are  all  <  externals,'  -  things  of 
'  indifferent'  moment.  Then,  do  I  not  remember  what 
the  wise  old  Phrygian  freedman  wrote :  'Is  the  house 
in  a  smoke?  If  it  be  a  moderate  one,  I  will  stay ;  if  a 
very  great  one,  I  will  go  out:  for  you  must  always 
remember  and  hold  to  this,  that  the  door  is  open. 
Th'ink  Fate  !  I  know  the  door  is  open.  I  am  master 
of  my  own  Ufe;  and,  when  I  am  utterly  sick  of  the 
world,  this  deep,  swift-flowing  stream,  on  whose  bank 


76  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

I  sit  as  I  write,  will  soon  quench  my  agony.     For  now 
I  can  bear  the  smoke,  I  think. 

"  I  was  strong  and  well.  I  could  hold  my  own  well, 
with  men  brought  up  to  labor.  Strolling  westward 
alono^  the  river  bank,  I  crossed  a  bridore  over  a  little 
run,  — came  to  a  bend,  where  the  river,  with  mighty 
shoulders,  went  heaving  hard  against  the  bank,  putting 
into  peril,  as  I  could  see,  the  road,  which  was  in  danger 
of  caving  off  into  the  water.  Then  I  came  to  a  piece  of 
bottom  land,  evidently  covered  in  freshets,  now  a  tract 
of  bare,  grassless  mud,  dided  by  the  heat,  and  with  its 
surface  cracked  everywhere.  The  road  passed  on  from 
this  toward  a  low  hill,  at  the  base  of  which  rose  a  scaf- 
folding, which  I  found  was  erected  over  the  mouth  of  a 
coal-mine.  Here  a  deep  well  was  sunk,  descending 
straight  into  the  earth.  From  the  mouth  of  the  pit,  a 
railway  ran  a  few  rods  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  along 
which  went  cars,  conveying  coal  to  the  barges,  which  lay 
fastened  at  the  shore.  The  scaffolding  was  a  frame- 
work of  strong  timbers,  and  contained  the  machinery 
for  hoisting,  which  was  worked  by  an  engine  in  a  shed 
close  by.  Up  from  the  pit  also  came  the  great  pump, 
which  kept  the  mine  free  from  water.  I  leaned  upon 
one  of  the  horizontal  beams  of  the  frame-work,  and 
looked  down  the  shaft  into  the  earth.  First  the  drift, 
then  limestone,  then  a  layer  dark  with  the  drip  of  water, 
then  it  was  black.  '  Look  out  for  your  head,  man.' 
I  drew  it  back,  just  as  a  platform  began  to  descend 
from  the  top  of  the  frame  into  the  earth.  It  nearly 
filled  the  area  of  the  shaft,  and  held  five  or  six  black- 


THE    ABYSS.  77 

ened  miners,  with  their  tools,  whom  the  engine  rapidly 
lowered.  ^  Go  down,  if  you  like,'  said  the  man  who 
had  warned  me,  —  a  man  of  intelligent  face,  in  a  dress 
gracefully  made,  but  serviceable.  I  judged  he  might 
be  the  superintendent. 

"  The  platform  soon  came  up,  heavily  laden  with  coal, 
which  was  turned  into  cars  that  waited,  and  hurried 
down  to  the  river.  I  stepped  on  to  the  platform  with 
the  man  and  two  or  three  miners,  each  with  his  tools  ; 
and  a  tin  lamp  hung  in  the  front  of  his  greasy  cap. 
We  descended  at  once.  The  shaft  was  two  hundred 
feet  deep.  As  we  went  rapidly  down,  the  hole  at  the 
top  grew  more  and  more  narrow.  Upon  reaching  the 
bottom,  we  stepped  off  into  an  underground  room. 
The  rock  was  close  overhead ;  and  beams  of  oak  were 
put  here  and  there,  to  prop  the  roof.  The  flaring  lamps 
in  the  caps  of  the  miners  shone  out,  showing  passages 
stretching  here  and  there  into  the  darkness.  In  one 
corner  was  a  litter  of  straw  ;  plainly  a  stable  for  animals, 
A  rumbling  noise  we  heard,  which  grew  louder ;  and 
presently  a  mule  came,  drawing  along  a  tramway  from 
one  of  the  passages  a  load  of  coal,  to  be  taken  up  the 
shaft,  driven  by  a  dust-covered  gnome  of  a  boy,  with 
the  lamp  in  his  cap  almost  brushing  with  its  flame  the 
roof  of  the  mine. 

"  The  man  who  had  warned  me  w^as  going  through 
part  of  the  mine,  and  offered  to  take  me.  I  followed 
him  into  one  of  the  passages.  We  could  only  walk 
with  stooping.  Putting  out  the  hands  on  either  side,  I 
could  touch  the  posts  which  supported  the  shaly  slate 


78  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

above.  Behind  the  posts,  I  could  see,  by  the  lamp 
which  my  guide  carried,  the  coal.  Through  the  passage 
^tent.  the  track.  Occasionally,  rooms  opened  out  into 
the  vein,  where  men,  half  sitting,  half  lying,  dug  out 
the  coal,  placing  props  here  and  there,  as  it  was 
removed.  *  Here  it  is  dangerous,'  said  my  guide,  as 
we  came  to  a  company  of  men  who  were  roofing,  with 
stout  plank,  part  of  the  passage,  beneath  the  stone. 
Large  fragments  had  fallen  there,  and  this  was  to  pre- 
vent further  caving-in.  AYe  went  deep  into  the  earth. 
The  air  was  dry  and  good,  in  spite  of  the  smoke  of  the 
lamps,  the  breaths  of  the  workmen,  and  the  fumes  and 
dust  from  the  blasts  of  powder,  which  occasionally  I 
could  hear  discharged,  —  a  dull  rumbling  coming  to  us 
along  the  gallery. 

"  At  length  a  group  of  half  a  dozen  men  came,  run- 
ning from  in  front  of  us  :  'A  blast  I  a  blast ! '  They 
had  just  lighted  one,  and  were  flying  from  it.  We 
turned  with  them,  and  were  hastening  back,  when  we 
met  a  similar  company  coming  from  the  opposite  di- 
rection, shouting  also,  'A  blast!  a  blast ! '  We  were 
between  the  two  fires  :  but  my  guide  only  laughed,  and 
shrusTired  his  shoulders  ;  at  the  same  time  crouching 
down  on  the  rock  beneath,  as  did  also  the  other  miners, 
huddling  into  as  dense  a  group  as  possible.  We  were 
packed  together  in  the  narrow  passage,  as  close  as  we 
could  be  crowded.  The  light  of  a  lamp  fell  full  upon 
the  face  of  a  man  whose  body  lay  partly  over  mine.  It 
was  smutty  from  working  in  the  coal ;  but,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  I  fancied  the  fellow's  expression.     With 


THE    ABYSS.  79 

a  shuddering  boom,  the  blast  before  us  exploded,  and, 
almost  at  the  same  instant,  the  blast  behind  ;  scattering 
coal-dust  and  small  fragments  all  about  and  over  us,  but 
no  pieces  of  considerable  size.  The  danger  was  over. 
The  man  I  had  noticed,  maintained  through  it  all  the 
same  look  of  recklessness,  blended  with  good-humor; 
and,  as  we  rose,  with  a  strong  brogue  uttered  some 
Tjugh  expression  in  keeping  with  the  countenance. 
Somethinjy  about  the  fellow  —  call  it  mao^netism  or 
what  you  will  —  attracted  me.  I  was  tired  of  wander- 
ing. I  might  as  well  stay  here,  I  thought,  as  be  any- 
where ;  and  might  make  a  friend  of  this  miner  as  well 
as  any  one.  In  place  of  Claiborne  and  Leonora,  I 
took  this  rouo:h  Pat  Flanao-an.  Will  he  cast  me  off  as 
they  have  done? 

"  As  we  returned  toward  the  bottom  of  the  shaft,  my 
guide,  who  announced  himself  as  the  superintendent, 
proposed  to  me  to  work  here  in  the  mine.  ^  I  did  not 
like  to  ask  you,  until  I  had  taken  you  down  ;  for  some 
men  are  rather  afraid  of  it,  till  they  know  about  it. 
But,  you  see,  there's  good  air,  not  hard  work,  and  good 
pay.  We  are  short-handed,  and  would  like  a  stout 
hand  like  you.  I  took  up  with  the  offer,  and  became 
what  I  still  remain,  — a  coal  miner,  two  hundred  feet 
under  ground,  only  coming  up  to  sleep. 

"  There  !  I  dare  say  you  have  not  read  thus  far.  I 
do  not  care.  It  has  filled  up  a  little  time  to  write  to 
you,  and  that  is  all  I  wanted.  I  am  as  well  off  here  as 
anywhere.  This  world  I  find  a  smoky  house  to  live  in. 
When  it  smokes  too  much,  I  shall  leave  it;  but,  for 
a  while,  I  choose  to  hold  on." 


80  THE    TinNKIXG   BAYONET. 

After  an  interval,  Herbert  wrote  to  Putnam  again. 
The  bitterness  had  gone ;  but  the  doubt,  from  the  sway 
of  whicli  his  new-born  love  had  well  nigh  rescued  him, 
resumed  its  power,  now  that  his  love  seemed  to  come  to 
nought. 

"  Months  have  gone  by,  Putnam  ;  and  to-night  I  feel 
the  impulse  to  write  again  to  you.  I  do  not  choose  yet 
to  have  you  know  where  I  am.  I  am  afraid  to  have 
you  write  to  me,  —  afraid  to  see  you.  You  might  over- 
throw me  with  some  argument;  and,  as  I  reflect  delib- 
erately, I  am  clear  that  it  is  better  for  me  to  remain  as  ] 
am.  God  keep  me  from  making  my  judgment  blind  ! 
I  pray  and  hope  for  a  faith  that  will  serve  me  to  live 
by  ;  standing  upon  which,  I  can  feel  enthusiasm,  and  do 
earnest  work.  I  do  not  find  it  yet,  but  doubt  and 
doubt.  I  cannot  follow  the  aims  which  men  generally 
follow.  I  would  be  true  to  myself.  To  live  is  so 
deeply  earnest.  Oh  that  I  could  find  a  place  on  which 
to  stand  !  When  I  tried  sincerely  to  look  dark  things 
in  the  face,  they  misunderstood  me.  I  do  not  know 
now  that  I  could  do  diflferently,  were  I  among  my  old 
surroundings.  I  suffer  here  with  my  questionings  as  1 
did  there.  Here,  I  am  free  :  there,  I  might  perhaps  be 
confined  as  I  have  been.  It  is  better  for  me  to  be  here. 
The  outside  of  things  here  is  rough  and  hard ;  but  what 
of  that  ?  I  care  not  a  straw  for  any  daintiness  or  pret- 
tiness  to  which  I  have  been  used.  To  me,  my  coarse 
shirt  is  as  good  as  broadcloth,  and  the  oaken  handle  of 
a  pick  more  congenial  than  a  dainty  cane. 

*'  I  have  little  idea  what  I  wrote  to  you  months  ago. 


THE    ABYSS.  81 

I  presume  it  was  something  harsh  and  desperate.  Per- 
haps it  may  have  alienated  you  from  me ;  yet  I  will  not 
say  that.  If  I  was  bitter,  you  know  it  was  because 
my  wretchedness  was  deep.  I  fancied  such  glorious 
light  was  breaking  upon  my  shadows ;  then  to  have  it 
go  out,  and  find  my  darkness  deeper  than  ever,  — with- 
out a  purpose,  without  a  faith,  without  hope  !  I  shall 
not  write  to  you  harshly  now,  —  never  fear  it ;  but 
you  will  not  blame  me  if  I  show  unhappiness.  How 
those  deep  words  of  Tennyson,  in  the  'Two  Voices,' 
come  home  to  me  I  — 

'  Thou  art  so  full  of  misery, 
Were  it  not  better  not  to  be  1 ' 

That  dull  and  bitter  voice  is  so  constant  to  me !  I 
wonder  when  I  shall  hear  the  other,  — 

*  The  little  whisper,  silrer  clear ; 
The  murmur,  "  Be  of  better  cheer."  ' 

A  sentence  of  Antoninus  comes  to  my  mind,  '"^Yould 
you  understand  yourself  and  the  world?  Pray,  then, 
let  your  library  alone.  Why  need  you  puzzle  your 
thoughts,  and  overgrasp  yourself?'  —  something  like 
that.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  to  let  books 
alone;  and  yet,  I  believe,  I  have  ^seldom  come  upon 
any  form  of  doubt,  the  hint  of  which  had  not  suggested 
itself  previously  in  my  mind.  Of  myself,  I  might  have 
come  into  as  deep  perplexity  as  I  have  reached  with  the 
help  of  others.      The  old  questions  lie  unanswered. 

"  I  am  a  miner  still,  meantime ;  working  to  feed  my- 
self, and  to  give  myself  the  desire  for  sleep,  the  sweet 

4* 


82  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

oblivion  !  I  wish  I  could  always  sleep.  Now  (remem- 
ber I  have  not  your  faith),  if  death  were  only  sleep! 
but  the  ^  thought  of  something  after  death  puzzles  the 
will.'  I  find  that  I  can  makc^  comfortable  living  by 
half-a-day's  work.  Pat  and  I  belong  to  a  company  of 
miners,  who  go  down  tlie  shaft  at  seven  in  the  morning, 
with  lamps,  picks,  and  powder,  to  our  work.  I  am  not 
mistaken  in  Pat.  He  is  uncouth,  but  has  a  royal 
heart.  His  gratitude  is  warm  toward  me  for  some 
little  favors  I  have  done  him.  He  has  been  a  roving 
fellow ;  turning  from  one  thing  to  another,  keeping  to 
each  but  a  little  while  ;  and,  I  fancy,  not  always  careful 
about  the  innocence  of  his  employment.  He  has  nevei 
remained  so  long  at  one  thing  as  he  has  now  at  this 
business  of  mining ;  in  good  part,  I  know,  through  his 

^-attachment  to  me.  Rough  old  fellow  that  he  is  !  He 
is  my  friend  now  ;  and,  if  we  remain  together,  I  think 
I  may  enjoy  sometime  getting  my  arms  about  hif 
neck,  as  I  used  to  with  Claiborne.  Pat  has  a  handi- 
ness  which  has  given  him  a  position  as  a  workman.  I, 
too,  am  thought  by  the  superintendent  to  have  showc 
some  judgment  and  skill.  Therefore  Pat  and  I  have 
been  set  to  work  with  a  gang  of  Cornishmen,  brought 
up,  and  I  do  not  know  but  born,  in  subterranean 
regions.  There  are  parts  of  this  mine  rich  in  coal,  and 
yet  which  require  judgment  and  care  in  the  w^orking. 

*  The  stratum  of  slate  overhead  is  loose  and  rotten. 
Often  we  are  obliged  to  roof  the  passages  with  plank  •. 
and  in  blasting,  and  using  the  pick,  great  care  must  be 
taken  against  jarring  the  crumbling  stone.     The  dan- 


THE    ABYSS.  83 

gerous  service  of  working  in  these  places,  Pat  and  these 
others  like,  because  it  brings  more  pay.  I  am  indiffer- 
ent to  the  peril,  and  am  somewhat  soothed  and  helped 
by  the  excitement  I  sometimes  feel.  I  lie  on  my  side, 
or  stoop,  on  a  pile  of  fragments,  as  we  are  obliged  to 
do,  with  the  smoking  light  in  the  front  of  my  greasy 
cap,  and  pick  away  at  the  vein. 

"  Overhead,  I  have  sometimes  seen  a  beautiful  fres- 
coing ;  ferns  and  reeds  printed  on  the  flat  surface  of 
the  slate,  showing  out  as  the  coal  falls  away,  —  painted 
there  so  long  ago.  Poor  creatures  that  we  are  !  Lit- 
tle ephemeral  flies  and  beetles  !  Slight  difference  would 
it  make,  if  we  were  crushed,  —  we  who  supersede  races 
gone,  to  be  superseded  by  higher  and  better  forms. 
How  it  would  puzzle  some  future  geologist,  my  long- 
fossilized  carcass  here  in  the  carboniferous  !  I  am  half- 
tempted,  sometimes,  to  bring  the  roof  down  upon  my- 
self, and  run  my  chance  of  setting  wrong  the  natural- 
ists of  a  billion  years  hence.  Fancy  some  fellow  in 
spectacles,  describing  me  from  occiput  to  heel-bone, 
and  arguing  thence  the  existence  of  the  human  race  in 
the  time  of  the  coal  formations.  At  noon,  I  grope  my 
way  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  and  go  winking  up  into 
the  daylight  once  more;  blacker,  of  course,  than  an 
Egyptian,  and  sour  with  sweat. 

"  These  are  rough  fellows  that  I  live  among,  but  not 
unkind.  At  first  there  was  antagonism  toward  me  ;  for 
I  could  not  throw  away  my  breeding  and  cultivation  so 
far  as  to  appear  like  one  of  them.  But,  when  they 
found  I  made  no  assumption,  antagonism  gave  way  to 


84  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

deference.  Pat,  too,  is  my  fiist  friend.  Rough  as  he 
is,  he  is  too  delicate  to  press  me  curiously.  The  super- 
intendent here  is  a  good  fellow ;  one  of  those  men,  not 
uncommon,  with  a  TV^orld  of  sense  and  ability  in  some 
directions,  yet  with  defects  in  others.  He  is  a  fine 
geologist ;  and  detected,  through  indications  on  the  sur- 
face, the  existence  of  this  coal  here.  He  had  some 
capital,  and  set  to  work  to  open  the  mine.  Others 
became  associated  with  him.  He  did  the  work  like  a 
good  engineer,  —  digging  the  shaft,  and  running  the 
passages  in  the  best  manner ;  but  the  financial  part 
was  badly  managed.  The  work  cost  too  much.  He 
failed  at  last,  with  his  company.  Those  into  whose 
hands  the  mine  fell,  employ  him  now  to  oversee.  He 
is  very  much  of  a  gentleman.  '  Bates,'  said  he,  the 
other  day  (that  is  my  assumed  name) ,  '  I  see  through 
you  in  part.  In  your  air,  yoiu-  face,  your  bearing,  you 
carry  the  marks  of  a  man  of  education  and  gentlemanly 
habits.  I  do  not  know  who  you  are,  and  do  not  try  to 
penetrate  your  secret;  for  secret  you  certainly  have. 
You  are  no  rascal  who  is  hiding :  that  I  am  sure  of. 
Call  me  your  friend.  Live  as  you  like.  You  take  a 
strange  course,  but  I  will  not  ^ay  it  is  a  wrong  one.  I 
can  think  of  things  that  might  bring  a  man  down  to 
this,  without  any  fault  of  his.  Call  me  your  friend.' " 
So  wrote  Herbert. 

In  outward  mien,  this  strong,  deep-eyed  man  was 
grave  and  silent,  but  kind  ;  and  though  there  was  noth- 
ing in  his  dress  to  mark  him  among  the  others,  it  was 


THE    ABYSS.  85 

very  plain  that  he  had  sometime  been  in  a  different 
condition.  He  lived  on  from  week  to  week  ;  and,  some- 
how or  other,  the  rumor  went  out,  that  there  was  a 
strange  and  romantic  mystery  about  him.  One  day, 
there  was  a  little  accident  at  the  mine,  in  which  it  so 
happened  that  he  rendered  Pat  Flanagan  an  essential 
service,  news  of  which  soon  found  its  way  to  the  town 
near,  where  the  newspaper  put  it  into  a  very  melo- 
dramatic dress.  The  superintendent  of  the  mine 
became  more  than  kind  to  him.  Herbert  liked  Pat, 
and  would  have  been  ready  to  help  him  for  that.  In- 
deed, he  would  have  helped  any  one ;  because  there 
was  something  in  him  which  made  him  want  to  live  a 
brave  and  good  life,  although  he  was  so  much  per- 
plexed. No  doubt,  however,  the  recklessness  which  he 
had  come  to  feel  made  him  more  ready  than  he  would 
otherwise  have  been,  to  take  risks.  He  began  to  think, 
that,  if  he  meant  to  avoid  embarrassment,  he.  must 
wander  again ;  but  now  the  days  of  his  gloom  were 
accomplished. 

When  great  excitements  jar  a  soul  in  the  condition 
of  Herbert's,  the  doubt  and  anguish  in  the  deep  places 
seem  to  be  loosened;  yet  sometimes,  if  the  excitement 
is  too  light,  or  too  suddenly  ceases,  they  settle  down 
again  into  their  old  places,  as  dead  and  heavy  as  before. 
Whfen  the  doubt  and  anguish  were  just  sinking  within  the 
soul  of  Herbert,  we  saw  how  they  were  shaken,  and 
almost  dispossessed,  by  the  power  of  eloquence.  Again 
we  saw,  that,  through  love  for  Leonora,  the  spirit  was 
thrilled  through  and  through,  until  the  dark  and  dead 


SQ  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

things  were  nearly  dispossessed ;  but  the  influence  too 
suddenly  ceased,  and  back  they  fell  into  their  old  places. 
But  now  came  the  solemn,  far-reverberating  thunder  of 
cannon  !  and  as,  at  the  booming  of  cannon,  the  corpses 
of  drowned  men  come  floating  to  the  surface  of  water, 
when  the  current  begins  to  bear  off  the  pollution,  so  it 
happened  that  under  this  deep-penetrating,  far-thun- 
dering jar  and  throb,  the  doubt  and  anguish  in  the 
deep  places  of  Herbert's  soul  rose  at  last,  and  floated 
away. 


CANNON   THUNDER.  87 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CANNON    THUNDER. 


From  Putnam  May  to  Louisa  May. 

"  Dear  Lou,  —  I  have  much  to  write  to  you  about 
those  whom  I  am  sure  you  have  come  to  care  for  in 
something  the  way  that  I  do  ;  and  first  of  Leonora.  I 
have  seen  her  ;  and  though  things  have  turned  far  difFer- 
"ently  from  what  I  hoped,  yet  I  am  so  impressed  with 
what  I  have  seen  and  heard,  as  to  have  almost  a  new 
sense  of  human  power.  I  have  beheld  a  creature  level 
with  this  great  time,  I  believe. 

"  I  went  to  see  Leonora  about  Herbert.  As  soon  as 
I  could  learn  that  she  was  well  enough  to  bear  conver- 
sation upon  a  matter  which  I  thought  must  move  her 
profoundly,  I  sent  her  a  note,  asking  for  an  interview^ 
She  appointed  an  hour,  and  I  went  to  her  father's 
house.  As  I  entered  the  hall,  I  thought  of  the  time 
when  Herbert  stood  there  in  his  boat-shirt,  and  Leo- 
nora came  down  the  stairs  to  him,  when  the  rioters 
were  about  making  their  attack. 

"  I  found  her  pale  and  calm.  I  have  told  you  much 
about  her,  but  she  is  changed.  The  sparkle  and  life 
and  mirthfulness  are  gone ;  or,  if  she  shows  them  now, 


88  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

it  is  all  intensified  and  deepened  and  dignified,  so  tliat 
you  only  think  of  grand,  impetuous  power.  The  mood 
in  which  she  stood  when  she  held  the  'Athaliah'  in  her 
hand  (I  have  told  you,  you  remember)  — transient  in 
those  days,  I  judge  —  has  become  more  constant  with 
her.  I  had  hinted  to  her  in  my  note  the  subject  upon 
which  I  wished  to  speak  to  her,  so  that  her  mind 
might  be  prepared.  '  I  am  Herbert  Lee's  friend,'  I 
began,  *  and,  until  his  disappearance,  was  his  confi- 
dant.' She  sat  like  marble.  I  hesitated,  abashed  by 
her  calm  manner.  At  length  she  said  coldly,  ^  These 
matters  we  will  adjourn,  sir.'  There  was  nothing 
more  to  be  done.  She  pushed  it  all  thus  quietly 
aside. 

"  My  situation  was  awkward,  and  I  rose  as  if  to  go.' 
She  detained  me  however,  saying,  in  a  difl'erent  tone, 
that  she  saw  few  people,  and  her  heart  was  so  full  she 
was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  talk.  She  spoke  of 
public  matters  —  at  first  calmly  —  saying  she  felt  an 
earnestness  she  could  hardly  understand ;  an  earnest- 
ness imusual  in  her  age  and  sex,  that  perhaps  needed 
apology.  '  But  you  know  my  parentage,'  she  said. 
'  It  was  in  part  born  with  me,  I  suppose,  and  in  part 
comes  from  my  nurture.  I  am  my  father's  true  child, 
I  think  :  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  lay  claim  to  his 
gifts.  I  hold  liim  to  be  nobly  eloquent,  as  are  great 
reformers  and  martyrs,  and  kindled  by  a  God-sent 
power.  I  claim  no  part  of  his  gifts,  but  only  a  share  of 
his  zeal.'  As  she  spoke,  she  grew  more  and  more 
earnest,  and  I  could  see  that  the  God  was  beginning  to 


CANNON    THUNDER.  89 

touch  the  Pythoness.  '  What  have  you  come  to  me  to 
talk  of  ?  a  matter  suited  for  a  time  of  ease  and  peace ; 
but  I  tell  you  my  mind  is  in  no  condition  to  think  of 
things  fitted  for  ease  and  peace.  You  speak  to  me 
of  this,  when  it  is  as  if  the  crimson  light  of  beacons  were 
streaming  about  me  wide  and  far,  and,  wherever  I  turn, 
the  heavens  were  cut  with  the  sharp  sparkle  of  signal 
rockets!  —  these  matters,  when  such  sleep  is  coming 
upon  so  many  living  eyes  ! '  She  paused,  and  paced 
strongly  to  and  fro,  until  she  became  more  quiet. 
*  You  will  think,'  she  said  at  last,  *  that  this  is  strange 
passion  in  me,  poor  woman  that  I  am  !  But  such  days 
as  these  are  for  sacrifice  and  heroism  ! '  She  kindled 
again.  *  Such  noble  duty  as  there  is  to  be  done  !  Oh, 
why  are  not  they  the  times  when  queens  went  forth  to 
strive,  and  weapons  were  held  by  the  hands  of  maids  !' 
I  can  give  you  little  idea  of  the  energy  with  which  all 
this  was  spoken,  and  of  the  hot  flush  with  which  her 
passion  supplanted  the  pallor  of  her  feebleness.  I  think 
I  understand  her  now,  —  the  almost  rudeness  and  wil- 
fulness which  seemed  so  out  of  place  when  I  first  knew 
her.  That  was  before  the  fiery  time  came.  She  is  not 
fitted  for  quiet,  e very-day  life.  It  is  like  trying  to  make 
a  toy-drum  of  a  hero's  corslet,  or  a  plaything  of  Ex- 
calibur,  for  Leonora  to  try  to  descend  into  the  coquetry 
and  frivolity  of  the  life  of  so  many  young  women. 
The  stern  sound  of  the  armor  would  terrify,  the  sword 
would  wound  and  pierce  ;  and  so  Leonora,  in  an  or- 
dinary time,  and  among  light  chatter,  continually 
shocked. 


90  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

"  I  tell  you  I  pitied  her.  Above  her  broad  brow  it 
was  meant  that  a  helmet  should  sit,  if  it  was  ever  so. 
She  has  the  power  to  lead  an  army  corps,  or  rule  a 
state  ;  and  there  is  no  sphere  for  her !  As  I  looked 
upon  her,  so  thrilled  with  her  passion,  the  pallor  gone, 
the  black  hair,  through  her  energetic  walk,  sliaken 
down  upon  her  slioulders,  I  thought  of  the  old  Spartan 
nurture.  I  could  well  fancy,  too,  that  in  some  such 
guise  as  that,  Boadicea  in  her  scythe-armed  chariot 
swept  down  upon  London.  And  yet  there  was  nothing 
barbarian  in  the  power.  It  was  force,  combined  with 
the  highest  refinement.  Leonora  seemed  to  me  there 
to  embody  the  genius,  the  aspiration,  the  noble  ire,  of 
the  time :  fierce,  but  with  a  hallowed  and  justifiable 
rage ;  a  grand  soul  kindled  into  heat,  all  consuming, 
and  yet  sanctified.  *  At  least,'  said  she,  with  bitter- 
ness and  a  curl  of  sarcasm,  '  I  will  do  with  my  poor 
woman's  strength  what  I  may.  I  will  be  where  they 
do  battle,  if  I  may  not  join.  I  will  go  to  the  front,  and 
bind  up  wounds.'     And  that  is  what  she  has  done. 

"  That  is  Leonora  in  these  times  ;  and  now  here  is 
Herbert.  I  send  you  his  last  letter  to  me,  which  came 
a  few  days  ago  ;  most  cheerful,  you  see,  full  of  new- 
born hope  and  faith  :  — 

From  Herheii  Lee  to  Putnam  May. 

"  ^  Joy,  joy,  dear  friend.  I  think  I  can  do  something. 
I  am  at  last,  I  believe,  carried  out  of  myself.  I  feel  a 
vigor  and  purpose  within  me,  which  I  pray  God  is 
nothing  transient,  which  I  believe  will  prove  enduring. 


CANNON    THUNDER.  91 

I  trust  that  ray  souL  at  last  stands  with  firm  feet  on 
eternal  rock.     Let  me  hurry  to  tell  you  all. 

" '  The  other  clay,  after  work  was  done,  a  steamer,  on 
its  way  southward,  stopped  at  the  mine  to  coal.  I 
went  down  to  the  boat,  as  I  often  do ;  and,  under  the 
sunset,  took  my  seat  on  the  bow,  which  was  well 
heaped  up  with  freight,  watching  the  bustle  of  the 
hands,  and  sometimes  looking  up  to  the  deck  in  front 
of  the  cabin,  to  see  the  faces  of  the  well-dressed  world, 
of  which  I  no  longer  count  myself  a  member.  The 
river  was  high,  and,  as  always  is  the  case  at  such  times, 
full  of  drift-wood.  Uprooted  trees,  logs,  sawn  timbers, 
—  every  thing  which  gathers  on  the  bank  of  a  great 
river  goes  rushing  down  with  the  flood,  covering  the 
stream  so  thickly  sometimes  as  to  impede  the  progress 
of  the  steamers.  It  goes  from  these  Western  forests  to 
the  Gulf.  Much  of  it  finds  its  way  into  the  Gulf 
Stream  ;  and  after  months,  sometimes  years,  it  is  cast 
ashore  in  strange  regions. 

"'What  voyages,  I  thought,  these  beeches  and  oaks, 
this  refuse  from  American  saws,  may  be  embarked 
upon  !  -  They  will  be  bleached  under  the  dash  of  seas 
in  far-away  climates  ;  the  shell-fish  will  cling  to  them  ; 
the  seal  and  the  sea-bird,  make  them  a  temporary  perch. 
Perhaps,  some  day,  these  trees  that  float  by  me  now, 
whitened  and  riven  beneath  the  maces  of  the  storm, 
may  be  stranded  on  the  North  Cape,  or  furnish  fuel  for 
the  pot  of  some  Russian  whaleman  in  Spitzbergen.  So 
they  sweep  through  strange  experiences  to  strange  des- 
tinations,  the  sport  of  currents  and  tempests ;  and  so 


92  THE   TIIESTCING    BAYONET. 

(you  know  that  I  moralize  inveterately) ,  waif  that  1 
am  I  I  have  been  torn  from  the  spots  where  I  rooted 
and  grew,  and  have  come  to  strange  shores. 

" '  While  I  sat  thinking,  upon  a  box  of  freight,  in 
the  hubbub,  a  disturbance  took  place  upon  the  upper 
deck,  in  front  of  the  cabin.  Some  of  the  passengers 
had  been  gambling,  and  a  black  waiter  came  flying  out 
with  loud  cries.  I  looked  up,  and  saw  that  he  was 
pursued  by  a  white  man  with  clenched  fists.  Others 
of  the  passengers  came  out ;  and  I  gathered  from  the 
talk  that  came  do^vn  to  me  from  the  deck,  that  the  negro, 
going  from  the  bar,  through  some  carelessness  had 
spilled  liquor  upon  this  person,  who  at  once  flew  into  a 
violent  rage,  struck  the  servant,  and  was  flying  after 
him  to  strike  him  again.  I  cared  little  for  the  brawl, 
and  was  turning  my  face  again  toward  the  river,  when 
my  eye  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  man  who  had  shown 
this  violence.  It  was  now  growing  dark  ;  but  the  torch 
of  cannel  coal  by  which  the  hands  were  working,  shed  a 
light  full  upon  him.  Do  you  anticipate  me?  It  was 
Claiborne  De  Treville  ! 

"*My  first  impulse  brought  me  at  once  to  my  feet, 
and  I  had  nearly  called  his  name.  Then,  remembering 
my  situation,  —  the  estrangement  which  would  have 
remained  between  us,  even  w^ere  I  in  the  position  in 
life  in  which  I  had  known  him,  —  my  next  impulse  was 
to  hurry  away,  lest  I  might  be  observed.  What  I  did 
at  last  was  this.  The  stage  just  here  was  being  drawn 
in,  and  the  hands  had  gone  out  to  unmoor  the  cable 
that  held  the  boat  to  the  shore.     It  was  high  time  for 


CANNON   THUNT)ER. 


93 


me  to  go.  I  stayed,  however,  in  my  place ;  resolving, 
to  go  down  the  river  to  the  next  landing,  and  retiu:n 
during  the  night  upon  some  upward-bound  boat. 
Something  of  my  old  feeling  toward  him  came  rushing 
to  my  he^rt.  It  brought  up  careless,  happy  memories. 
"  I  will,"  I  thought,  "  at  least  be  near  him,  if  we  must 
not  meet." 

" '  The  evening  went  on  as  the  boat  rushed  rapidly 
forward.     The  air  was  warm ;  and  Claiborne,  soon  re- 
covering from  his  anger,  —  as  used  to  be  the  case,  you 
remember,  in  old  times,  —  sat  with  a  gentleman  close 
upon  the  edge  of  the  deck,  with  the  arm  of  his  chair 
against  the  rail.     The  freight  was  piled  high  upon  the 
bow  ;  and  only  from  the  desire  to  be  near  him,  and  hear 
his  voice,  I  climbed  over  the  hogsheads  and  barrels, 
and  found  a  place,  where,  sitting  with  my  back  agamst 
one  of  the  great  timbers  supporting  the  deck,  I  was 
directly  under  him.     I  had  no  idea  of  eavesdropping, 
but  thought  there  would  be  no  harm  in  my  hearing 
conversation  which  others,  who  sat  as  near  him  on  the 
deck  as  I  was,  covdd  also  hear  perfectly  weU.     I  was 
surprised  to  find  him  there.     I  knew  he  went  abroad 
some  time  ago,  but   supposed  that  he  had  returned'. 
From  a  sentence  or  two  that  he  let  di'op,  I  gathered 
that  he  had  just  arrived ;   and,  though  he  was   silent 
about  his  destination,  I  knew  it  was  right  to  suppose 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  South. 

" '  As  he  talked,  he  became  excited.  "  Slavery,"  said 
he,  "  Good  Heavens  !  why  cannot  these  shallow  fellows 
see,  that  no  more  beneficent  institution  has  ever  been 


94  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

seen  on  the  face  of  the  earth  !  What  is  it  but  this  that 
brings  the  barbarian  into  civilization !  Look  at  the 
savage.  He  will  only  expend  his  energy  in  fighting. 
He  will  not  work  himself,  —  makes  his  women,  and  the 
captives  he  takes  in  war,  do  his  work  for  him.  In 
antiquity  it  was  so.  Nation  after  nation,  at  one  time 
or  another,  passed  under  the  yoke,  and  were  made  to 
work.  What  was  the  effect  of  it  all?  Why  this, — 
that,  through  this  beneficent  means,  they  gained  a  habit 
of  industry,  saw  what  things  could  be  done  by  work. 
The  disposition  to  sluggishness  and  fighting  was  weak- 
ened, and  a  way  prepared  for  an  industrial  civilization. 
Slavery  !  I  believe  in  it  from  my  soul,  though  my 
views  are  different  from  those  generally  held,  perhaps, 
by  pro-slavery  men.  These  Northern  men,  —  work- 
men, and  proud  of  being  workmen,  —  why  are  they 
workmen  but  for  this  ?  that  Norman  conquerors,  eight 
centuries  ago,  subdued  them,  and  made  them  serfs. 
Mere  hunters  and  fighters  they  were :  but  these  Nor- 
mans put  them  to  the  soil,  and  to  the  arts  ;  made  them 
labor  until  they  got  the  habit  of  labor.  I  am  of  this 
Norman  stock,  and  would  do  here,  in  this  new  world 
and  with  this  other  race,  what  was  done  in  the  old  by 
my  ancestors.  I  do  not  set  these  negroes  down  as 
mere  brutes.  The  stock  is  as  good,  perhaps,  as  were 
those  Saxon  boors  whom  William  and  his  followers  put 
under  foot.  They  are  indolent  barbarians  ;  that  is  all. 
I  shall  do  them  a  service  by  holding  them  under  my 
mastery.  Under  this  mastery,  they  will,  in  time,  learn 
to' work,  become  industrious,   and  reach  the  level  of 


CANNON   THUNDER.  95 

these  Northern  people,  who  were  once  as  low  down  as 
they.  I  belong  to  these  Normans  —  tamers  we  are  ! 
We  have  tamed  these  Saxon  boors  ;  we  will  tame  these 
negroes,  and  some  day  tame  still  other  races."  And  so 
he  went  on. 

"^As  he  spoke,  he  rose,  seized  with  one  hand  the 
light  pillar  that  rose  from  the  deck,  and  gesticulated 
nervously  with  the  other.  In  the  moonlight,  I  could 
see  the  working  of  his  lips,  and  the  clutching  of  his 
hands. 

" '  The  negro  whom  Claiborne  had  struck,  here  came 
out  of  the  cabin,  with  his  head  bandaged.  As  Clai- 
borne caught  sight  of  him,  he  stopped  in  his  talk,  and 
went  toward  him  at  once.  "  Well,  boy,  I  did  more 
than  I  meant  to.  I  did  not  expect  to  make  a  bruise 
like  that."  And,  taking  off  the  bandage,  he  went  into 
the  cabin,  returning  presently  with  it  wet  with  some 
healing  application.  Then  he  put  something  into  the 
negro's  hand,  which  I  could  not  see ;  but  I  judged  from 
the  black's  expression,  that  he  thought  the  affair  had  not 
turned  out  so  badly  for  him  after  all.  Then  Clai- 
borne came  back,  and  renewed  his  talk.  It  was  in  a 
lower  tone ;  but  he  grew  more  vehement,  then  broke 
out  at  last,  "I  hate  the  North;"  —  then  paused,  and 
said,  in  a  tone  full  of  tenderness,  "  and  yet  the  only 
man  I  ever  loved  was  a  Northerner."  Think  of  that 
coming  in,  Putnam !  It  thrilled  me  through  and 
through.  It  woke  up  the  old  affection  ;  and  he  was  to 
me  then  the  same  dear  warm  heart  that  he  was  when 
we    slept   together   when   w^e   were   boys.     .Here   the 


96  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

steamer  whistled,  swept  off  into  the  river,  rounded  to 
with  bow  up  stream,  and  came  to  a  stop  before  a 
town.  I  climbed  down  from  the  pile  of  freight. 
Standing  on  shore,  I  gazed  upon  Claiborne's  face,  lit 
up  by  the  red,  wavering  light  of  the  torches. 

"  *  Suddenly,  from  the  darkness  that  rested  upon  the 
town  behind,  tolled  a  quick,  deep  bell ;  and  a  man,  with 
head  uncovered,  and  face  working  eagerly  in  the  light 
of  the  torch,  rushed  with  mad  leaps  down  from  the 
bank,  and  on  to  the  boat.  He  brought  news,  Putnam, 
of  the  outbreak  of  the  war ;  and,  while  the  people  were 
in  tumult,  the  boat  was  unmoored,  and  Claiborne  was 
borne  away  from  me. 

"  ^  Before  long,  an  upward-bound  steamer  touched  at 
the  town,  and  I  had  the  opportunity  to  go  back.  I  sat 
alone  under  the  night,  thrilled  and  panting  as  I  have 
not  been  for. many  weary  days. 

"'I  thought  to  myself,  and  I  was  astonished,  even 
while  I  thought,  at  the  earnestness  with  which  the 
reflections  rushed  through  my  mind,  "  O,  Claiborne  !  I 
will  not  argue  whether  or  not  the  barbarian  is  raised  by 
his  servitude,  as  you  claim ;  yet  how  is  it  with  the 
masters  ?  Do  we  not  know  how  in  antiquity  the  mas- 
ter races  rotted,  and  came  to  nought,  through  the  cor- 
rupting effects  of  this  servitude  which  they  forced  upon 
others?  and  cannot  we  see,  in  your  class  to-day,  that 
you,  too,  sink  deeper,  year  by  year,  toward  the  savage? 
You  yourself,  —  man  of  culture  though  you  are,  observer 
of  the  world,  and  thinker,  with  kindness  of  the  heart 
which  I  know,  oh  how  well !  —  what  is  this  ungoverna- 


CANNON    THUNDER. 


97 


ble  fury  about  a  trifle,  into  which  you  fell,  not  an  hour 
ago,  but  a  wild,  foolish  wrath  truly  barbarian?  O 
Claiborne !  your  enslaving  of  these  men  is  only  crime, 
—  crime  for  which  you  are  bitterly  punished ;  and,  this 
very  hour,  you  bear  upon  yourself  the  marks  of  your 
punishment.  This  terrible  rage,  and  the  other  furious 
passions  that  go  with  it,  and  which  I  know  so  weU 
dwell  in  your  heart,  —it  is  barbarism  coming  fast  upon 
you  ;  the  great  red  wale  upon  your  soul,  where  the  un- 
sparing lash  of  eternal  Justice  is  falling  [ " 

"'These  were  the  hot  thoughts  that  charged  my 
breast ;  and,  as  I  say,  I  was  amazed  to  find  my  mind,  for 
60  long  utterly  cold  and  listless,  glowing  now  with  such 
vivid  fire.  And  now  what  came  of  it  ?  Will  you  think 
it  inconsistent  that  I  made  up  my  mind,  in  that  hour, 
to  enlist ;  to  go  right  into  deadly  fight  with  Claiborne, 
toward  whom  my  old  friendship  was  just  kindling  anew? 
I -concluded  to  enlist,  and  for  this  reason  :  But  for  this 
barbarian  taint,  ha  would  Jiave  the  noblest  of  all  the 
natures  of  men  that  I  have  known.  Because  he  has  it, 
for  a  useful  purpose  in  the  world  he  is  almost  worth- 
less ;  liis  virtues  cancelled  in  their  action  by  this  ruth- 
less violence  and  untempered  appetite.  I  say  it  while 
I  love  him.  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  overthrow  what 
brmgs  upon  noble  men  this  unholy  curse.  If  I  know 
myself,  it  is  not  from  any  narrow  motive  that  I  go  :  not 
for  a  class  ;  not  for  country,  indeed  ;  but  for  mankind. 
I  tell  you,  this  fire  of  mine  is  a  sudden  thing,  and  may 
not  be  lasting.  But  no  :  I  will  not  say  that.  It  will 
endure.     It  is  sent  of  God  ;  and,  on  my  knees,  I  have 


98  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

solemnly  given  thanks  to  God  for  the  kindling  of  my 
soul.' 

Putnam,  here  resuming,  goes  on  to  say, — 
"That  is  Herbert  in  these  times;  and  now,  Lou, 
rejoice  with  me,  that,  as  the  gloom  within  his  mind 
begins  to  break,  he  is  at  last  found.  My  trunk  is 
packed  ;  and  to-morrow  I  take  the  early  train.  I  shall 
not  dissuade  him  from  going  as  a  soldier ;  but  I  would 
have  him  go  in  some  position  where  he  can  do  better 
service  than  in  the  ranks.  No  doubt  he  feels,  that,  if 
he  should  return  to  his  friends,  there  would  be  only 
delay  and  embarrassment ;  and  his  fresh  and  warm 
enthusiasm  impels  him  to  go  forward  at  once  by  the 
first  path  which  opens.  I  will  tell  you,  in  a  moment, 
how  I  found  him ;  but,  first,  have  you  heard  that  Hol- 
yoake  too,  like  Leonora  and  Herbert,  has  gone  to  the 
war?  He  has  gone  as  colonel  of  the  regiment  the 
*  Guards '  formed  ;  the  organization,  of  which  both  Her- 
bert and  he  were  members  in  their  youth,  — both  con- 
spicuous for  their  soldierly  bearing  and  proficiency. 
Holyoake  has  gone  for  personal  glory,  and  to  win 
Leonora,  I  believe, — not  from  interest  in  the  cause; 
for  I  hold  it  to  be  proved,  that  he  is  false  and  selfish  : 
and  yet  he  rode  nobly,  with  the  silver  eagles  on  his 
shoulders,  at  the  head  of  his  full  battalions,  down 
through  the  multitudes !  His  are  eyes  as  fitted  to 
beam  through  a  helmet's  bars  as  were  ever  those  of 
ancient  knight,  and  never  shape  more  martial  bestrode 
war-horse.     But  he  is  false,  false  ! 

"  Have  I  ever  told  you,  that  Herbert's  father  came  to 


CANNON   THUNDER.  99 

his  death  some  three  months  ago  ?  He  received  a 
severe  injury  at  his  warehouse,  which  soon  brought  him 
to  his  end.  A  healthy,  active  man  of  fifty-five  he  was, 
who  might  have  lived  until  ninety.  He  left  no  will ; 
and  there  is  no  heir  but  Herbert,  who  comes  into  pos- 
session of  a  large  estate.  It  has  been  known  that  I 
have  received  letters  from  him  once  or  twice ;  and  ap- 
plication was  made  to  me  for  information.  The  letters, 
however,  give  but  little  clue.  He  is  buried  in  a  coal- 
mine upon  some  western  river ;  but,  in  his  description 
of  his  surroundings,  he  has  always  been  careful  to 
speak  very  generally,  —  saying  only  what  would  apply 
to  many  places.  I  have  felt,  that,  if  we  could  find 
him,  we  could  induce  him  now  to  come  back.  Tillen- 
baugh  has  turned  out  a  miserable  impostor.  Not  long 
ago,  he  was  found  guilty  of  a  very  gross  case  of  mal- 
practice, and  would  have  been  imprisoned  if  he  had  not 
escaped.  It  was  he,  you  know,  who  pronounced  Her- 
bert insane  ;  and  he  also  was  at  the  bottom  of  the 
censure  which  many  were  inclined  to  pass  upon  Dr. 
Benton  for  refusing  to  keep  Herbert  at  the  Shepherd 
Asylum  Dr.  Benton  has  been  active  in  befriending 
Herbert ;  and,  now  that  Tillenbaugh  is  unveiled,  every 
one  is  willing  to  believe  that  Herbert  has  been  perse- 
cuted. The  case  has  attracted  considerable  notice ; 
and  now  that  Mr.  Lee  has  so  suddenly  died,  and  the 
heir  is  wanted,  there  are  numbers  of  persons  who  are 
interested. 

"You  see,  Herbert  gives  very  little  more  clue  than 
he  has  done  heretofore  to  his  whereabouts.     Insane  ! 


100  THE    THIXEXNG   BAYONET. 

Why,  my  blood  bums  to  think  of  the  charge,  and  what 
the  poor  fellow  has  been  made  to  suffer  through  it !  I 
can  hardly  believe  —  and  yet,  I  suppose,  it  must  be  the 
case  —  that  it  was  through  some  inducement  held  out 
by  Holyoake,  that  Tillenbaugh  so  suddenly  began  to 
take  the  active  part  that  he  did,  in  influencing  Mr.  Otis 
and  others  against  Herbert.  So  haughty,  so  selfish  ! 
Yet  he  is  the  man,  forsooth,  admired  and  feasted ! 
Indeed,  he  will  be  a  brave  soldier ;  but  his  bravery 
is  alloyed  with  a  miserable  baseness,  if  my  suspicion  is 
correct.  It  is  his  love  for  Leonora,  perhaps,  whioh 
carries  him  beyond  all  bounds.  I  know  she  does  not 
love  him.  She  is  outwardly  polite  to  him,  as  a  lady 
should  be  to  her  father's  friend,  and  to  one  who  is,  in 
manner,  a  thorough  gentleman.  I  think  she  may  have 
some  admiration  for  him,  as  one  who  will,  in  terrible 
dangers,  uphold  the  cause  to  which  she  is  so  thor- 
oughly devoted ;  but  Leonora  will  never  give  him 
her  hand. 

"Well,  this  letter  came.  I  had  just  finished  reading 
it  when  it  came  to  be  time  for  me  to  go  to  town,  as  I 
do  on  Saturdays,  to  dine,  you  know,  with  Mr.  Blancard 
and  his  family,  — the  gentleman  w^ho  is  so  polite  to  me. 
After  dinner,  said  he,  ^  By  the  way,  Mr.  May,  I  have 
something  here  a  little  in  your  line.  To-day,  I  have 
heard  of  quite  a  hero  out  West.  I  will  read  you  the 
facts.  You  can  make  out  an  address  for  a  Sunday- 
school  from  them,  or  perhaps  point  a  sermon  with 
them.'  With  that,  he  took  out  a  letter.  It  seems  Mr. 
Blancard  is  President  of  the  Castleton  Mining  Com- 


CANNON   THUNDER.  101 

pany ;  and  this  letter  was  from  the  superintendent  of 
the  mine,  giving  a  report  of  affairs.  The  business 
details,  which  took  up  most  of  the  letter,  were  omitted, 
of  course,  as  ^Ir.  Blancard  read  ;  but  here  is  the  end. 
I  got  Mr.  Blancard  to  tear  off  the  page  which  contains 
it ;  and  I  send  it  to  you  :  — 

TJie  Superintendenfs  Letter. 

"  *  Yesterday,  we  came  near  having  a  serious  catas- 
trophe at  the  mine.  A  portion  of  the  mine,  I  have 
considered,  for  some  time,  to  be  in  rather  a  dangerous 
condition.  The  stratum  of  shale  which  roofs  the  pas- 
sage is  unusually  brittle ;  and,  in  taking  out  the  coal, 
great  care  is  necessary.  We  have  employed,  in  the 
passages  and  rooms  in  this  part  of  the  mine,  only  our 
best  men,  —  Cornishmen,  and  our  most  careful  hands. 
Although  there  has  been  this  weakness  of  the  roof,  I 
have  judged,  that,  with  caution,  it  was  safe  to  send  the 
men  there.  The  vein  in  that  direction  is  very  rich; 
and  perhaps  that  has  made  me  overbold  in  working 
there.  Yesterday,  however,  the  roof  cracked  with  a 
sound  like  thunder,  and  several  large  fragments  fell.  I 
hurried  to  the  spot,  or  as  near  as  I  dared  venture ;  for 
I  happened,  at  that  time,  to  be  in  the  mine.  The  fear- 
ful cracking  continued.  The  hands  were  hurrying  out ; 
and,  though  every  moment  we  felt  almost  sure  that  the 
whole  roof  woukl  fall,  —  as  it  was,  the  falling  frag- 
ments began  to  choke  the  passage,  —  yet  still  the  rock 
did  not  give  way  entirely.  All  were  safely  out  at  last 
at  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  as  we  thought ;  but,  on  calling 


102  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  roll,  I  found  that  one  was  missing,  —  a  man  named 
Patrick  Flanagan. 

"*  A  Cornishman,  who  had  been  working  near  him, 
spoke  up,  saying  that  a  large  fragment  fell,  after  which 
he  heard  Flanagan  cry  out.  The  probability  was,  that 
he  had  been  struck  by  the  falling  piece,  disabled  from 
escaping  with  the  rest,  and  left  behind  in  the  panic  to 
be  crushed,  as  seemed  probable.  As  this  became 
known,  a  hand  named  Bates  sprang  forward ;  and, 
though  some  sought  to  hold  him,  was  presently  rushing 
back,  as  fast  as  the  obstructed  passage  allowed,  into 
the  danger.  We  watched  the  flare  of  his  lamp  as  he 
went  farther  and  farther ;  the  mine,  meantime,  echoing 
every  minute  with  the  cracking  roof.  We  never  ex- 
pected to  see  him  again  alive.  Flanagan  had  been 
working  at  the  very  end  of  the  passage.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  the  glare  of  the  light  appeared  again  ; 
but  it  came  at  last.  Bates  had  Flanagan  upon  liis 
back.  He  is  a  man  of  great  strength.  Flanagan  was 
wedged  in  by  a  heavy  fragment,  which  few  men  could 
have  removed.  Bates,  however,  lifted  it  off.  None 
of  Flanagan's  bones  were  broken,  though  he  was  badly 
bruised. 

It  was  a  very  heroic  act  on  Bates's  part ;  but 
no  one  was  surprised.  This  Bates  is  a  remarkable 
character.  He  appeared  at  the  mine  a  year  or  more 
ago.  I  found  him,  one  day,  looking  into  the  mouth 
of  the  shaft,  —  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  man,  in  >  a 
rpugh,  dirty  dress ;  well  tanned,  and  hard-handed  like 
a  laboring  man  ;  and  yet  with  an  uncommon  look  of 


CANNON   THUNDER.  103 

intelligence,  I  thought  then,  in  his  blue  eyes  and  about 
his  face.  His  expression  was  stern,  and  rather  sad  ;  his 
carriage  was  that  of  a  gentleman.  We  were  short  for 
help,  then,  and  I  engaged  him  at  once;  and  he  has 
worked  ever  since.  He  worked  well,  for  he  is  strong 
and  tough  beyond  most  men ;  and  his  intelligence 
soon  gave  him  a  position.  I  put  him  with  our  first- 
class  hands.  He  came  to  be  much  looked  up  to  among 
the  men.  He  is  very  reserved ;  but,  in  spite  of  the 
soot  and  dirt,  you  can  see  that  he  is  a  gentleman. 
There  Is  some  mystery  about  him.  Certainly  he  is  no 
scoundrel  who  is  hiding  here.     Respectfully  yours, 

"'Peel  Egberts, 

"  '■Superintendent  of  Castleton  Coal  Mines.'' 

(Putnam  resumes  :)  "You  may  imagine  my  condition 
at  this.  Here  was  my  friend ;  the  man  whom,  above 
all  others  almost,  I  have  held  In  honor,  and  whom, 
now  that  he  seems  to  be  coming  out  into  this  faith  and 
trust,  I  should  prefer,  most  of  all  men,  to  resemble ; 
the  lono^  lost  at  last  found.  I  shook  with  mv  easfcr- 
ness  ;  and,  knowing  my  tendency  to  palpitation,  I  was 
really  alarmed.  Mrs.  Blancard,  in  her  silks,  looked 
amazeci ;  and  Mr.  Blancard  waited  for  an  explanation. 
When  I  was  a  little  recovered,  I  accounted  for  my 
agitation.  Mr.  Blancard  kncAv"  something  about  the 
circumstances.  Herbert's  father  was  widely  known  in 
business  circles  ;  and  his  death,  the  condition  of  his 
property,  and  the  disappearance  of  his  only  son,  were 
familiar  to  them. 


104  THE    THmKIXG   BAYONET. 

"I  start  to-morrow  for  Castleton,  to  bring  Herbert 
back  to  his  friends.  If  he  goes  to  the  war,  it  will  be 
easy  for  him  to  go  in  a  position  where  his  abilities  can 
be  more  valuable  than  in  the  rank».  I  must  go  quick ; 
for,  as  you  see,  he  is  about  to  leave  Castleton.  I 
hardly  think  it  possible  he  can  go,  and  leave  no  trace 
of  himself." 


CHEVRONS. 


105 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CHEVRONS. 


Herbert   Lee   is  a  sergeant;    for  his  bearing,   and 
familiarity  with  drill,  give  him  some  position  at  once 
among  the  men  with  whom  he  takes  his  place.     Let  us 
call  the  regiment  which  he  has  joined,  the  Lowell  Regi- 
ment, after  noble  men.     They  are  to  re-enforce  a  post 
lately  taken.     At  length  comes  tfie  morning  of  arrival. 
The  pilot  and  captain  of  their  steamer  are  in  the  fore- 
top  ;  and  word  comes  down  to  the  men  crowding  on 
deck,  that  they  can  see  the  sails  of  the  frigates  hanging 
loose  within  the  harbor  to  which  the  vessel  is  bound. 
Now  a  pilot-boat  is   met   off  the  bar   of  the  harbor. 
Soon  there  is  no  lack  of  excitement ;  for  the  ship  is  in 
the  channel,  and  every  minute  the  ground  upon  which 
a  famous   action  has   lately  been  fought   comes   more 
plainly  into  view.     In  a  few  months,  the  Lowell  Regi- 
ment will  look  upon  such  a  scene  with  indifference  ;  but 
now  it  is  new.     The  pilot-boat  brings  word,  that  th^ 
gun-boats  to-day  have  steamed  away  to  engage  a  rebel 
.  fort  not  far  off;   and  that,  any  moment,  the  sound  of 
their  guns  may  be   heard.     A  sailor,   with  the  lead, 
each  moment  sings  out  his  monotonous,  long-drawn  cry, 


5* 


106  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

as  the  vessel  goes  slowly  forward.  Now  the  captured 
fort  is  in  plain  sight,  —  a  low  embankment  on  a  low 
shore.  Herbert  can  see  behind  it  the  tents  of  a  great 
camp ;  trees,  in  full  leaf,  of  shapes  strange  to  him  ; 
glistening  bayonets,  and  the  long  lines  of  regiments  at 
drill. 

As  he  stands  near  the  pilot-house,  he  sees  the 
steamer's  captain,  who  is  talking  with  the  colonel, 
point  ahead  to  a  black  buoy  upon  the  water.  "  There 
was  our  position  during  the  fight, — just  inside  that 
buoy :  hardly  out  of  range ;  but  they  liad  no  shots  to 
spare  for  the  transports."  The  steamer  had  been  pres- 
ent at  the  fight.  A  few  turns  of  the  paddles,  and  the 
vessel  is  at  the  anchorage.  Then,  with  a  crash,  over- 
board goes  the  anchor,  dragging  after  the  great  chain ; 
and,  in  due  time,  the  regiment  sets  foot  upon  the  sandy 
shore. 

Long  rows  of  unpainted  extempore  warehouses 
stretch  inland  from  an  unfinished  pier.  The  regi- 
ment forms  its  line  near  piled-up  barrels,  spars,  and 
ordnance-stores  ;  then  camps  as  it  may.  Herbert,  alive 
with  the  novelty  of  every  thing,  fortunately  enough 
is  ordered  upon  duty  which  gives  him  an  opportunity 
to  look  about.  He  passes  near  the  quarters  of  the 
general  commanding  the  post,  —  a  room  at  one  end  of 
a  temporary  building,  —  within  -which,  looking  past  the 
sentry,  he  can  see  a  camp-bedstead ;  a  military  saddle  ; 
an  unpainted  pine  case,  standing  on  an  elegant  tapestry 
carpet ;  a  marble-topped  table  and  a  rough  stove,  —  a 
mixture  of  plain  camp-furniture,  and   elegant  articles 


CHEVEOXS. 


107 


saved  from  the  wholesale  pillage  to  which  the  negroes 
had  subjected  the  deserted  plantation-houses.     Herbert 
finds  a  guide  in  a  soldier  off  duty,  who  was  present  at 
the  action ;  and,  together,  they  go  to  see  the  fort.     The 
sentries,  on  drawbridge  and  rampart,  are  good-natured  ; 
asking  the  news  by  the  steamer,  and  allowing  the  ser- 
geant to  pass.     Here  is  the  old  palisade,  —  here  the 
embankment ;  and  soon  they  are  within  the  low  parapet 
which  runs  about  the  enclosure,  turning  into  angles  and 
bastions.     These  are  Union  guns  ;  but  those  tremendous 
fellows  were  taken  from  the  rebels.     This  one  is  splen- 
didly sighted ;   and  a  skilful  gunner  can  draw  a  bead 
with  it  on  a  ship's  side  two  miles  away,  as  surely  as  a 
hunter   upon  a  squirrel.      This   piece   was   struck  by 
a  bolt  right  here  at  the  muzzle,  where  a  deep  dent  in 
the  solid  metal  shows  the  force  of  the  blow.     This  had 
a  trunnion  knocked  off  by  a   shot,  and  is  worthless. 
That  pile  of  wooden  fragments,  so  splintered,  is  made 
up  of  the  enemy's  gun-carriages,  split  to  pieces  by  shot 
from  our  fleet :   so  says  Herbert's  guide.     Here  is  an 
underground  passage  through  the  parapet  to  the  outer 
rifle-pits,  where  a  sheU  penetrated,  which  slew  a  sur- 
geon.    On  this  traverse  ran  the  gun  which,  of  all  the 
rebel  pieces,  was  best  handled.     Here  was   a  certain 
red-shirted   fellow,  very  brave    and    skilful,  who  won 
admiration  from  the  whole  Union  fleet,  until  at  length, 
as  Herbert's  guide  saw  himself,  a  shot  struck  the  para- 
pet close  at  his  side.     He  was  seen  no  more,  nor  was 
the  gun  again  fired ;  but,  when  our  forces  landed,  it 
was  found  hurled  from  its  carriage ;  while  a  corse  or 


108  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

two,  —  one  in  a  red  shirt,  —  and  a  mangled  limb  here 
and  there,  made  known  the  deadly  effect  of  the  shell. 
This  is  the  magazine.  Herbert  cannot  enter,  but  looks 
with  curiosity  at  the  piles  of  grape-shot  bound  together 
by  iron  rings ;  at  the  huge  balls  and  shells,  and  the 
furnaces  for  heating  shot,  whose  iron  has  been  burned 
by  intense  fire,  —  all  materials  captured  with  the  for- 
tress. "  Only  a  few  weeks  ago  !  "  Herbert  thinks.  He 
leaps  on  to  the  low  parapet,  with  the  ditch  and  stockade 
in  front.  The  sea  is  beautifully  smooth,  and  over  him 
breathes  a  summer  breeze.  In  the  distance  behind,  are 
the  camps ;  and  softly,  from  a  mile  away,  comes  the 
music  of  a  fine  band.  Herbert's  face  is  grave,  as  he 
sits  in  the  midst  of  the  wreck,  and  listens  to  the  story 
of  his  companion  ;  but  he  has  chosen  his  path.  "  God 
knows,"  he  thinks,  "I  have  no  love  for  this  work  of 
strife.  God  knows  that  I  wish  well  to  my  race,  — 
intelligence,  -vdrtue,  joy,  to  all  human  kind.  In  the 
way  of  all  this,  stands  a  terrible  power,  not  to  be 
beaten  down  or  driven  off,  but  by  cannon-missile  and 
sword-thrust.  With  my  life  in  my  hand,  I  come  to 
walk  in  bitter  and  desperate  paths,  trusting  that  my 
suffering,  perhaps  sacrifice,  may  tend  to  make  the  world 
more  holy  and  peaceful  at  tlie  last." 

Then  Herbert  goes  out  to  new  fortifications,  which 
the  Union  general  has  thrown  up.  Soldiers  every- 
where ;  sentries  at  every  few  rods.  A  regiment  at 
review  marches  past ;  a  picket  from  an  out-post,  just 
relieved ;  then  a  company  of  axemen  from  the  woods. 
Here    now  are    the    new   intrenchments ;    a  swarm  of 


CHEVKONS.  109 

soldiers  at  work;  a  long,  irregular  line,  re-entering 
constantly  in  angles  and  bastions,  with  cannon  and 
mortars  mounted  on  the  platform  behind.  Herbert 
surveys  the  inside  ;  then  the  outside,  where  the  strength 
of  the  work  is  more  apparent,  —  frowning  everywhere 
with  embrasures,  —  a  huge  cannon -mouth  guarding 
every  possible  approach.  Then  Herbert  passes  negro 
cabins,  and  the  deserted  mansions  of  planters.  He 
turns  in  the  dusk  at  last,  —  his  progress  lit  up  by  the 
glare  of  camp-fires,  and  the  new  moon.  He  goes  full 
of  thought.  Side  by  side  with  the  destruction,  he  has 
seen  the  liberated  slave.  "  A  bitter  price  to  pay ;  but 
is  not  the  freeing  of  these  millions  worth  it  ?  It  is  •  the 
only  way." 

Herbert's  introduction  to  real  danger  takes  place  the 
very  next  day.  His  company  is  detailed  to  go  as 
escort  to  a  colonel,  who  is  despatched  on  a  gun-boat, 
through  dangerous  waters,  to  carry  certain  orders. 

The  water  is  blue  and  beautiful ;  the  shores,  finely 
w^ooded.  All  is  green,  sweet,  peaceful ;  with  every 
little  while  a  plantation-house,  backed  by  its  rows  of 
negro -cabins,  appearing  on  the  bank  through  palm 
and  cypress.  All  is  innocent.  Arcadian ;  the  sweetest 
rural  peace.  Now,  the  broader  stream  —  an  arm  of 
the  sea  —  in  which  they  have  been  advancing  is  aban- 
doned, and  the  steamer  takes  a  narrower  channel. 
The  men  on  board  could  almost  jump  ashore  in  many 
places ;  but  the  water  is  deep.  Here  is  a  planter's 
landing,  where  vessels  from  the  North  are  unloading 
coal,  and  one  is  taking  on  horses.     A  few  rods  back, 


110  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

Herbert  sees  the  deserted  mansion.  The  orange-groves 
about  the  place  are  green.  Sweet  is  the  wind  in  the 
branches  of  the  live-oaks  ;  grotesque,  the  palmetto  and 
cane.  A  score  of  nooks,  one  can  see  on  either  shore ; 
delicious  arbors  within  arching  boughs  ;  vistas  stretch- 
ing away  into  fields  of  cotton  and  cane.  The  blue 
coats  of  a  picket-guard  are  in  the  garden.  A  sentry 
paces  here  in  a  pretty  retreat.  Korthern  coal  is  being 
cast,  ton  after  ton,  into  the  bowers  and  along  the  ave- 
nues ;  for  this  is  to  be  a  depot. 

A  pilot  is  taken  on,  and  the  gunboat  steams  forward. 
Contrabands  come  down  from  their  cabins  to  look  at 
the  passing  boat.  Herbert  can  see  the  tottling  chil- 
dren raise  their  arms,  and  hear  them  call.  "There  is 
devastation,"  Herbert  thinks;  "but,  little  innocents, 
you  shall  come  up  through  it  all  into  better  opportuni- 
ties." The  frequent  sentinels  along  the  shore  pause  in 
their  beat.  Ducks  and  cranes  swarm  alons:  the  stream. 
A  smoke  is  seen  ahead.  What  can  it  be  ?  They  are 
on  dangerous  ground  here ;  passing  points  where  no 
ti*oops  have  been  stationed.  Who  can  say  what  dan- 
gers lurk  in  those  unpenetrated  thickets  !  Herbert  and 
his  comrades  are  eager ;  for  danger  is  not  yet  their 
familiar.  They  look  at  their  rifles,  to  have  them  ready 
in  case  a  volley  is  required.  What  can  the  smoke  be? 
The  pilot  and  commander  of  the  gunboat  confer.  Can 
it  be  that  a  hostile  gunboat  has  ventured  so  near  to  the 
Federal  force?  It  is  only  a  false  alarm ;  for,  as  a  bend 
is  cautiously  turned,  a  Federal  transport  is  seen  carry- 
ing a  picket-force  to  a  distant  island. 


CHEVRONS.  Ill 

Herbert  talks  with  the  crew,  who  have  been  in  these 
waters  before.  They  point  out  a  fine  mansion,  with  a 
colony  of  neat  white  cabins  close  at  hand ;  deserted 
now  by  its  former  owner  and  his  family,  as  are  all 
the  plantations  for  leagues.  The  sailors  tell  Herbert, 
that  there  lived  the  lady  who  sent  a  present  of  coffin- 
handles  to  their  captain,  who  had  known  her  in  for- 
mer days.  They  were  brought  by  a  fine  black  boy, 
who  liked  his  new  company  too  well  ever  to  go  back  to 
his  mistress.  They  are  close  in  to  beautiful  shores  : 
a  summer  sea,  a  summer  air,  a  summer  landscape.  A 
hazy  mist,  almost  like  August,  hangs  over  the  distant 
clumps  of  trees.  Arbors  and  glades  open  on  the  shore, 
where  one  would  love  to  lie  for  hours  to  breathe  in  the 
beauty  and  balmy  air.  A  sweet  languor  hangs  over 
every  thing,  as  if  these  were  the  retreats  of  the  lotos- 
eaters.  Through  yonder  leafy  dell,  Herbert  thinks, 
might  come  the  "  mild-eyed,  melancholy  company,"  that 
met  Ulysses  and  his  crew  coming  from  the  far-resound- 
ing sea.  If  it  were  not  for  du|y,  he  feels  as  if  he  "  had 
had  enough  of  action  and  of  motion,"  and  would  like 
to  live  with  the  contrabands  in  those  fragrant  groves. 

The  crane,  startled  by  the  wheels  of  the  gunboats, 
draws  her  long  legs  under  her  body,  and  flies  away,  — 
a  huge,  strange  bird  to  the  soldiers.  Turkey-buzzards 
wheel  over  Herbert's  head,  making  him  wonder  what 
impurities  these  scavengers  of  the  air  can  find  in  such 
perfumed  retreats.  Boom  !  far  away  to  the  southward. 
Boom  !  again.  They  feel  it, ^rather  than  hear  it,  —  a 
long,  deep  jar  that  shakes  the  air.    What  is  it?   Where 


112  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

is  it?  From  the  city  that  is  beleaguered  forty  miles 
away?  or  in  the  sound,  through  which  steal  the  swift 
blockade-runners  ?  They  see  distant  smoke  arise  ;  again 
the  discharge  of  heavy  ordnance.  "Eleven-inch,"  say 
the  sailors  familiar  with  the  sound.  Report  after  re- 
port. "It  is  sharp  firing,"  say  the  sailors.  "There 
must  be  an  engagement  somewhere."  Two  or  three 
columns  of  dense  black  smoke  rise  behind  a  headland. 
"There,"  says  the  commander  of  the  gunboat  to  the 
colonel,  —  "  there  are  rebel  gunboats.  We  always 
know  them  by  their  smoke.  They  bum  here  pitch-pine 
for  fuel.  They  are  surely  coming  down."  It  has  the 
effect  to  make  crew  and  soldiers  even  more  on  the  alert. 
A  headland  is  passed ;  then,  across  a  broad  reach  of 
water  far  away,  right  in  the  sun  -  gleam,  a  rebel 
strong-hold  lies  in  view.  Now  it  is  only  a  black  dash 
lying  low  on  the  marsh,  just  above  the  water,  with  the 
flag-staff,  visible  through  the  spy-glasses,  near  one  end. 
On  the  left  is  a  point  of  land,  with  a  strong  battery. 
Two  large  armed  boat*,  full  of^Federal  troops,  row 
past.  Boom !  again  the  distant  reverberation.  The 
gimboat  goes  nearer ;  and,  with  a  glass,  Herbert  can 
see  the  rebel  flag,  as  yet  a  mere  dot  at  the  top  of  the 
staff.  The  sandy  bar  now  lies  just  before  the  vessel, 
upon  which  the  party  are  to  land.  On  the  beach  is 
an  old  martello-tower,  —  Spanish,  or  pe.rhaps  Nor^, — 
dating  back  far  beyond  the  memory  of  this  generation. 
Two  rakish  gunboats,  on  the  watch  for  blockade-run- 
ners, pulling  at  their  anchors  like  hounds  in  leash,  lie 
close  in  shore.     Back  are  the  tents  of  the  force  which 


CHEVRONS.  ,  113 

is  thrown  forward  here  ;  and  the  stars  and  stripes  pushed 
up  into  the  very  fire  of  the  rebel  fort.  The  fresher 
breeze  comes  from  seaward,  inspiring  all  with  buoy- 
ancy and  heartiness. 

The  gunboat  is  within  long-range  of  the  fort,  whose 
casemates  and  pointed  guns  Herbert  can  very  plainly 
see.  A  word  from  an  officer,  and  the  great  pivot 
amidships  is  manned ;  each  sailor  in  his  place.  A  lan- 
yard is  jerked  ;  a  deafening  burst ;  a  shiver  and  settling 
of  the  little  vessel's  hull  under  the  recoil ;  then  the 
hoarse  hurtle  of  the  great  projectile  towards  the  fort. 
Three  times  they  fire ;  and  at  the  last  shot,  in  a  little 
jet  of  flame  and  smoke,  the  shell  explodes  on  the  edge 
of  the  parapet. 

A  knot  of  soldiers  stands  on  the  beach.  The  gun- 
boat passes  the  stem  of  one  of  the  anchored  vessels,  — 
the  officers  at  the  stern,  in  gold-banded  caps,  saluting 
the  colonel  and  his  companions  ;  then  steams  on  still 
nearer  the  fort.  They  are  now  less  than  two  miles  dis- 
tant ;  and  such  a  spaccf  over  water  in  a  clear  air,  seems 
very  short.  "If  we  go  any  nearer,  we  shall  surely 
have  a  shot,"  a  sailor  says.  They  all  watch  the  dark 
fort ;  expecting,  every  instant,  to  see  the  spirt  of  smoke 
from  a  casemate ;  then  hear  the  whistling,  flapping  roar 
of  the  coming  shell.  But  no  shot  comes.  The  gim- 
boat  dances  about  on  the  swells,  —  a  hard  mark  to  hit, 
probably  the  rebel  gunners  think. 

The  colonel  and  his  party  land  ;  the  officer  going 
forward,  conducted  bv  an  aide  of  the  g^eneral  in  com- 
mand ;   the  escort,  a  little  in  the  rear.     They  go  up 


114  THE   THIXKING   BAYONET. 

through  the  sand,  past  the  old  martello-tower,  —  a  con- 
crete of  shells  and  mortar.  "Very  tough,  that,"  says 
a  sergeant,  fraternizing  with  Herbert.  "  A  shell  from 
the  fort  struck  it  the  other  day,  and  only  made  ardent." 
"  Do  they  fire  often  now  ?  "  inquires  Herbert.  "  Yes  : 
two  shells  have  just  been  thrown  in.  One  struck  the 
beach,  just  opposite  the  tower  there ;  we  are  passing 
the  spot  now :  the  other  struck  near  our  general's 
tent." 

Several  good  regiments  are  posted  here.  There  are 
sentries  on  every  knoll ;  pickets  in  every  clump  of 
bushes.  Good-natured  they  seem,  in  their  wholesome, 
breezy  cantonment ;  laughing,  talking,  not  seldom 
swearing.     Here  is  the  tent  of  the  general  in  command, 

—  a  little  withdrawn  from  the  others,  in  a  grove  of 
stunted,  weather-beaten  trees.  The  general  appears 
from  a  reconnoissance ;  a  fine,  frank  man,  Herbert 
thinks,  as  he  stands  among  the  escort  in  the  background, 

—  a  major  of  engineers  the  other  day  ;  now,  just  made 
a  brigadier ;  a  man  in  his  prime,  and  esteemed  prom- 
ising;  erect,  cheerful,  vigorous,  no  doubt  a  good  sol- 
dier. He  greets  the  colonel  just  arrived,  —  an  old 
friend,  —  and  shows  the  new-comer  the  shell  just  fired 
from  the  rebel  fort,  which  lies  near  his  tent-door.  It  is 
handled  somewhat  tenderly,  for  it  has  not  exploded. 
"  How  well  it  took  the  grooA^e  !  "  says  the  general ;  and 
one  can  see  how  the  iron  projections  near  the  base  of 
the  bolt  are  polished  and  deeply  scratched,  as  the  pro- 
jectile was  whirled  out  by  the  gun  two  miles  away. 
The  general  thinks  they  would  fire  oftener,  if  they  only 


CHEVRONS.  115 

knew  how  well  they  did  it.     They  are  probably  obliged 
to  be  economical  with  ammunition. 

The  colonel  wishes  to  see  the  fort  nearer.  The  gen- 
eral says  he  has  a  battery  of  rifled  guns  close  at  hand ; 
but  it  is  masked  from  the  fort.  The  escort  must  be 
cautioned ;  for,  if  too  many  figures  should  appear,  the 
fort  would  become  suspicious.  The  officers  go  for- 
ward, the  escort  following  behind.  They  pass  over 
and  around  sandy  knolls,  through  thickets  and  brush, 
through  dense,  dry  reeds,  for  a  considerable  distance. 
They  emerge  from  the  bushes,  at  last,  just  under  a 
6teep,  sandy  ridge ;  on  whose  sharp  top,  out  in  bold 
relief  against  the  sky  as  they  look  up  at  him  from  be- 
low, a  German  boy  is  standing  sentry.  Close  at  hand 
are  the  half-dozen  guns  of  the  battery,  in  position,  but 
with  the  crest  of  the  hill  undisturbed  in  front  of  their 
muzzles.  An  hour  or  two  of  brisk  work  with  the  shovel, 
by  an  enterprising  party,  would  take  away  the  obstruc- 
tion. The  officers  go  to  the  highest  point ;  the  escort 
look  cautiously  over,  a  little  below.  Plain  as  the  sun 
of  noon-day  can  make  it,  lies  the  fort.  The  casemates 
yawn  and  threaten.  The  guns,  en  barbette,  can  be 
seen ;  the  flag-staff,  flag,  and  the  sentry  pacing  the 
rampart.  A  rash  civilian  visitor  who  stands  with 
the  officers  jumps  out  in  front,  and  shakes  his  fist 
toward  the  sentry.  The  general,  speaking  quickly, 
calls  him  back.  "  You  put  us  in  unnecessary  peril,"  he 
says.  "They  see  you  very  plainly,  and  possibly  may 
fire.  In  their  single  sliots  at  us,"  continues  the  gen- 
eral, "  they  usually  fire  the  gun  to  the  right  of  the  flag- 


116  THE    TIIINBING   BAYONET. 

staflP,  en  harhette ;  but  this  morning  it  was  the  one  to  the 
left."  The  escort  are  so  near  that  Herbert  can  hear 
the  conversation.  He  can  see  the  two  guns  perfectly 
well,  and  watches  to  see  if  they  will  be  fired ;  but  the 
puff  of  smoke  does  not  come.  The  officers  descend  at 
last,  leaving  the  lonely  sentinel  to  resume  his  beat. 
The  errand  is  accomplished  :  the  party  re-embark,  and 
are  immediately  underway ;  while  the  grim  stronghold 
behind  persists  in  being  dumb. 

Soon  after  this,  the  Lowell  Regiment  marches  inland, 
to  take  post  on  the  banks  of  a  broad  stream  guarded  by 
men-of-war,  in  a  town  once  rebel,  but  out  of  which  the 
foe  have  been  driven.  They  lie,  however,  close  at 
hand.  The  regiment  takes  position  within  a  line  of  old 
intrenchments,  and  sleeps  all  night  upon  its  arms. 
Lay  down  the  rubber  blanket  upon  the  earth ;  put  a 
log  for  the  pillow,  accoutrements  over  the  overcoat ; 
lie  now  with  the  bayonet  in  its  sheath  at  the  side,  — 
the  point  piercing  the  ground,  the  socket  pressing  into 
the  ribs, — the  most  uncomfortable  of  bed-fellows; 
now  the  rifle  across  the  breast ;  draw  the  blanket  over 
all,  —  only  let  the  soldier  be  more  particular  to  keep 
the  dew  from  the  rifle  than  himself:  so  Herbert  sleeps 
on  his  arms. 

This  was  once  a  pretty  town ;  but  now  it  is  almost 
deserted,  and  is,  in  great  part,  in  ruins.  Herbert  finds 
the  view  a  desolate  one,  looking  out  from  the  angle  in 
the  earth-works  where  his  company  is  stationed.  The 
line  of  intrenchments  runs  in  zigzag ;  here  just  in- 
cluding a  comfortable  mansion,  in  which  the  commis- 


CIIEVKONS.  117 

sioned  officers  take  their  quarters.  In  front,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  ditch,  runs  the  street  of  the  town, 
once  lined  with  buildings.  These  have  been  torn 
down,  so  as  to  aflPord  no  shelter  to  an  advancing  foe  : 
the  chimneys  often,  however,  have  been  left  standing. 
At  the  end  of  a  street  running  southward,  Herbert  can 
see  the  walls  of  a  tall  public  edifice.  Now  a  picket  on 
horseback  turns  a  corner  in  sight,  followed  by  a  troop 
of  negroes.  Their  garb  is  a  mixtm-e  of  the  coarse 
negro  plantation-dress,  with  the  cast-off  finery  of  mas- 
ters and  mistresses  :  the  coarse  shirt  and  an  old  silk 
hat ;  a  skirt  of  rough  sacking,  a  waist  of  rusty  silk. 
They  have  brought  the  rough  plantation  -  carts  with 
them,  drawn  by  the  mules,  heaped  up  with  an  assort- 
ment of  articles;  coftee-pots  and  \4olins ;  axes  and 
porcelain ;  their  own  effects  from  their  cabins,  and  the 
plunder  of  their  masters'  houses.  These  have  just  come 
within  the  lines,  and  go  wonderingly  behind  the  cavalry- 
man to  the  depot. 

Just  behind  the  position  of  the  regiment  is  a  large 
foundry  :  its  furnaces  cold ;  its  blasts  silent ;  castings, 
large  and  small,  rusting  in  the  yard;  the  spiders  spin- 
ning their  webs  among  the  patterns  in  the  pattern-room 
up  stairs  ;  the  soldiers  rifling  the  office-desks  of  leger- 
leaves  and  handsome  billheads,  to  replenish  their  stock 
of  stationery. 

Food!  —  beef,  red,  tough,  and  salt;  hard  bread, 
tough  white  squares  :  they  might  have  been  quarried 
somewhere  out  of  a  ledge.  What  will  they  do  for  a 
soldier  ?     Locks  might  be  built  of  them  for  the  alimen- 


118  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

tary  canal,  if  that  important  thoroughfare  needs  such 
appendages  ;  or  they  would  make  a  good  pavement  for 
some  of  the  internal  passages  :  but  that  their  design  is 
merely  nourishment  is  not  patent  to  the  cursory  ob- 
server. 

Pat  Flanagan,  now  bound  to  Herbert  by  the  strong- 
est ties,  has  enlisted  with  him,  —  a  rough  and  rosy 
face ;  a  short  neck  rising  upon  heavy  shoulders  ;  callous 
hands  and  warty  fingers  ;  the  whole  uncouth  figure  alive 
with  good-humor.  Often  his  conversation  is  striped, 
as  a  sergeant's  arm  is  striped,  with  the  bluest  blasphemy 
in  streaks  :  yet  he  is  thoroughly  tender-hearted  and 
well-disposed ;  with  unwashed  fingers,  handy  beyond 
account  in  all  sorts  of  work;  with  rude,  untrained 
brain,  full  of  resource. 

Day  by  day,  Pat  shows  his  knack.  He  adapts  him- 
self, jovial  and  rosy,  to  his  circumstances,  and  bends  his 
surroundings  to  suit  his  convenience.  AVithin  half  an 
hour  after  the  landing,  he  has  a  comfortable  seat  for 
himself  and  Herbert,  out  of  the  foundry  pattern-shop. 
With  a  skilful  chip  of  a  hatchet,  another  pattern  is 
changed  into  a  comfortable  wash-bowl.  He  takes 
bricks  from  a  ruined  building,  river  mud  for  mortar, 
a  parcel  of  old  boiler  plates  and  rusty  flue,  and,  in  a 
forenoon,  has  a  convenient  cooking  range,  which  the 
cooks  of  the  whole  regiment  take  for  a  pattern.  Among 
the  scrap  iron,  he  finds  half  a  potash-kettle.  He  rights 
it  up,  braces  it,  and  it  becomes  the  regimental  boiler 
for  clothes.  A  pork-barrel,  stolen  (Pat  is  an  old 
marauder)  from  the  commissary,  is  sawed  into  a  pair 


CHEVEONS.  119 

of  convenient  tubs.  A  broom  is  wanted  to  swe©p  clean 
the  rough  tent-floor,  made  of  planks  from  the  ruins. 
Pat  finds  a  handful  of  old  husks  among  the  litter, 
where  the  horses  of  the  field-officers  are  kept.  It  is 
short  work  to  whittle  out  a  handle  ;  and  short  work, 
after  that,  with  a  string  and  a  borrowed  bodkin,  to 
complete  the  thing.  With  a  piece  of  old  waffle-iron, 
fixed  by  wires  to  a  broken  coal-stove,  Pat  soon  has  an 
arrangement  for  cooking  hoe-cakes.  He  finds  the  old 
foundry,  with  its  scrap-iron  and  patterns,  a  perfect 
depot  of  conveniences.  "  If  iver  I  have  the  bad  luck 
to  be  wr-r-acked  in  an  unthrodden  desert,  give  ould 
Pat  a  foondhry,  wid  its  convaynient  hapes  ;  and,  bedad  ! 
he'd  live."  He  is  unspeakably  handy;  and  Herbert, 
though  willing  enough,  sits  in  a  maze  in  an  emergency, 
while  Pat,  with  his  resources,  contrives  some  remedy. 
The  scholar  and  gentleman  almost  feels  humiliated 
before  his  rough  friend. 

Pat  teaches  Herbert  to  wash.  Rash  business  to 
represent  one's  hero  at  a  wash-tub,  —  an  operation  so 
moist  and  steamy,  that  the  romance  leaches  out  of  it  as- 
the  strength  is  leached  out  of  ashes  ;  and  yet  did  not 
Nausicaa  overcome  the  wandering  Odysseus  from  her 
wash-tubs,  and  a  pretty  Norman  maiden  leave  a  heap 
of  dirty  clothes  to  be  the  mother  of  William  the  Con- 
queror? Let  us  be  bold  then.  The  sergeant  duly 
builds  a  fire  under  the  kettle,  draws  water  out  of  the 
old  foundry-tank,  —  then  the  tub  and  the  soap,  and 
the  sleeves  stripped  to  the  elbow.  Pat,  full  of  benignity 
and  brogue,  rosily  superintends,  until  he  loses  the  com- 


120  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

pany's  iron  mess-pail  in  the  cistern,  rendering  beans 
that  day  at  dinner  an  impossibility ;  whereat  there  is 
fiercely  burning  wrath,  and  Pat  has  no  heart  to  advise 
further. 

With  drill  and  other  duty,  Herbert's  time  and  mind 
are  fully  taken  up.  Thoughts,  however,  occasionally 
occur  to  him,  which  he  feels  like  recording.  At  length, 
he  is  sergeant  of  the  guard.  At  night  he  must 
watch. 

It  is  chill  and^ ghostly.  Under  his  direction,  the 
reliefs  must  be  formed  and  stationed.  "  Fall  in,  men," 
—  take  arms  from  the  stacks, — the  steel  sheaves  in 
front  of  the  tents ;  now  right  face,  and  forward. 
This  corporal  is  a  private  just  promoted ;  and  the  ser- 
geant, to  make  sure  that  all  is  done  right,  must  walk 
round  with  the  relief,  —  first,  down  the  disused  road, 
into  the  old  foundry,  scorched  and  blackened  by  fires 
now  extinguished.  Stand  there,  Harker,  sentry  No.  1, 
in  the  moulding-sand,  just  under  the  arched  door,  by 
the  rusting  crank  of  the  disused  engine.  Now,  No.  2, 
at  the  gate  by  the  river  bank.  File  left,  now,  relief, 
here  to  the  water  side;  and,  No.  3,  take  your  »tand 
among  these  boxes  and  casks,  —  stores  of  a  regiment 
which  is  just  arriving.  Good-natured  Philip  Munn, 
farmer  from  a  little  nook  under  Chepstow  mountain, 
yours  is  the  first  beat  here  in  the  street  of  the  to\vn. 
Yours,  Epinetus  Low,  here  under  the  rampart.  Now, 
the  relief  marches  along  what  was  once  a  sidewalk 
before  pleasant  dwellings.  It  has  become  a  sentry 
beat ;    is    crushed    by    cannon    wheels,    stained    with 


CHEVEOXS.  121 

blood,  where  the  slain  fell  the  other  day,  —  with  shriv- 
elled trees  on  one  side,  and  the  forlorn  chimneys  on  the 
other. 

While  the  sergeant  who  shares  with  Herbert  the 
duty  is  on,  Herbert  spreads  his  blanket  on  the  floor 
behind  the  stairway  of  the  officers'  quarters.  Close  by 
is  the  surgeon's  room.  The  doctor  opens  his  door  ;  and 
the  light  from  within  falls  full  on  the  sergeant's  strong 
face,  and  well-moulded  limbs.  He  good-naturedly 
arouses  Herbert,  and  prescribes  an  agi-eeable  dose  of 
punch,  to  keep  out  the  damp.  Herbert  is  coming  into 
notice.  He  drinks  the  punch.  The  doctor  wonders 
at  the  gentlemanly  accent  with  which  he  is  thanked ; 
but  the  sergeant  rolls  over,  with  face  to  the  wall,  as  if 
indifferent  to  further  talk.  He  sleeps  until  the  lieuten* 
ant  of  the  guard,  at  midnight,  calls  him  up.  Then  it 
is  watching  through  the  long  dark  hours,  until,  through 
the  fog,  glows  at  last  the  morning,  lighting  up  the 
damp,  soiled  tents,  the  ruins  and  the  rubbish,  and 
the  great  shot-hole  through  the  foundry  roof.  Charley 
Ross,  company  drummer,  comes  out  coughing,  to  beat 
surgeon's  call.  At  eight  o'clock,  the  new  guard  is 
mounted,  and  duty  is  done. 

After  doing  this  night-duty,  Herbert  has  the  day  to 
himself. 

What  does  he  think  at  these  times  ?  He  has  cleaned 
his  gun,  —  laid  it  up  against  the  canvas  of  the  tent 
which  he  occupies  with  the  four  other  sergeants  of  his 
company,  —  takes  out  his  paper,  and  writes  to  Putnam 
May. 


122  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

Herbert  Lee  to  Putnam  May. 

"  I  find  great  relief  in  writing.  It  is  a  resource  to 
me ;  but  it  is  hard  to  write,  if  no  one  is  to  see  it  but 
yourself:  so  what  I  write  I  mean  to  send  to  you,  as  I 
have  done  heretofore.  I  know  of  a  sutler  who  goes  to 
New  York  from  the  point  where  I  am,  who  will  mail 
my  letter  for  me  there.  So  you  will  have  no  clue  to 
the  department  or  regiment  in  which  I  serve.  I  prefer 
to  remain  aloof,  as  before,  from  the  w^orld  which  I  have 
known. 

"  I  have  come  at  last  to  feel  earnest  faith ;  faith  in 
humanity  as  something  worth  saving ;  faith  in  myself, 
as  endowed  with  some  power  of  extending  good  among 
men.  I  have  come  at  last  to  entertain  a  purpose.  I 
devote  myself  to  the  w^ork  of  freeing  man  from  fetters, 
whether  he  be  master  or  slave.  In  me  at  last  are  hope 
and  earnestness,  and  I  joyfully  give  my  life  and 
strength  to  danger  and  hardship.  If  it  w^ould  help  me 
in  any  w^ay  to  come  into  contact  again  with  the  world 
I  have  known,  I  would  seek  it  again ;  but  I  do  not  see 
that  it  would.  I  think  I  am  fit  for  something  higher 
than  this  place  in  the  ranks.  I  am  mature,  —  with 
mind  and  body  well  trained,  —  with  some  military 
knowledge.  I  could  help  the  cause  more  efficiently  in 
a  higher  place.  I  would  like  a  higher  place  ;  not  from 
ambition,  God  knows,  but  to  do  more  efficient  service. 
If  I  could  be  helped  to  this,  I  would  unveil  myself. 
But  it  would  do  no  good.  My  soundness  of  mind  is 
questioned.     Since  my  flight,  there  has  been  no  less  of 


CHEVRONS, 


123 


eccentricity  in  my  life  than  before.  It  would  be  said, 
that  I  was  unfit  for  responsibility.  It  would  not  help 
me  to  see  or  hear  from  any  one  of  you.  It  might 
embarrass  me.  I  will  push  on  with  my  life  as  I  may, 
—  full  of  my  new  peace  and  faith,  —  doing,  I  trust, 
the  duty  of  a  man. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  saw  you  the  other  day,  — 
touched  you,  —  that  you  spoke  to  me,  indeed?  What 
brought  you  West,  I  wonder !  You  remember  the 
depot  that  was  so  crowded,  and  the  man  who  stood 
in  the  way,  when  you  were  in  a  hurry  to  buy  your 
ticket.  Your  train  was  about  leaving ;  and  the  conven- 
tion, which  had  just  adjourned  in  the  town,  caused  the 
depot  to  be  unusually  full.  I  heard  you  say,  behind 
me,  'Be  so  good  as  to  let  me  pass  here.'  I  knew 
your  voice  in  a  moment;  and,  as  I  stepped  aside,  I 
pulled  my  cap  down  over  my  eyes.  No  wonder  you 
did  not  know  me,  though  you  looked  at  me  deliber- 
ately ;  for  my  dress  was  rough,  and  my  beard  is  so  full 
and  heavy,  that  my  face  is  disguised.  I  was  half 
tempted  to  speak  to  you.  But  'what  will  be  the  use?' 
I  thought.  *  He  can  tell  me  nothing  to  alter  my  plans. 
He  cannot  help  me.  He  may  urge  me  to  give  up  my 
purpose,  and  return  to  my  old  life.  He  might  persuade 
me  to  do  it  in  spite  of  myself,  when,  in  my  deliberate 
thought,  I  am  very  sure  it  is  as  well  or  better  for  me 
to  remain  as  I  am.  I  am  as  satisfied,  perhaps,  as  I 
can  be  under  any  circumstances.  What  would  Leo- 
nora care?  (Though  why  do  I  speak  of  that  which 
should  be  all  deeply  buried  ?)     I  would  rather  live  as  I 


124  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

am.  What  do  I  care  for  the  prettiness  and  daintiness 
which  I  have  forsaken  ! '  So  I  thought,  and  I  watched 
you  therefore  from  a  distance,  as  yoii  took  your  seat ; 
and  your  train  moved  off  in  the  direction  from  which  I 
had  just  come.  Of  my  old  friends,  it  is  with  you 
alone,  Putnam,  that  I  maintain  any  intercourse ;  and 
with  you  it  is  infrequent. 

".  It  would  be  easier  to  wear  shoulder-straps  than  to 
be  a  simple  sergeant ;  but  I  am  contented.  I  want  to 
serve  the  cause  as  best  I  can.  Some  day,  I  think  I 
shall  be  good  for  something  better  than  to  scour  this 
musket,  and,  if  battle  comes,  fire  it  off.  I  am  vain 
enough  to  believe  that  I  have  a  head  that  could  take 
some  responsibility  ;  but  I  will  work  up. 

"  For  now,  Pat  and  I,  having  changed  our  names, 
live  here  together  in  the  mud ;  with  little  beneath  to 
keep  us  from  the  damp,  and  little  overhead  to  keep  off 
the  rain.  The  air  is  misty  ;  and  your  bright  gun-barrel 
freckles  over  "svith  rust  at  short  notice,  like  a  Yankee 
girl's  face,  out  without  her  sun-bonnet,  in  a  warm 
wind. 

"  I  write  just  what  comes  uppermost,  —  desultory,  I 
know,  —  for  I  have  not  much  to  say.  O  Claiborne, 
Claiborne  !  still  my  friend  ;  my  heart  goes  out  to  him, 
lonely  as  I  am,  as  it  used  to  long  ago.  One  thing 
troubles  me,  Putnam ;  that  there  is  so  abominably 
little  of  truly  chivalrous  feeling  in  these  times.  I  know 
you  may  say  the  South  has  a  miserable  cause ;  I  be- 
lieve so  myself.  I  hate  their  principles,  from  my 
heai-t ;  but  do  tell  me  what  is  plainer  than  that  grand 


CHEVRONS.  125 

men  sometimes  are  misled  to  embrace  a  foul  cause  ! 
But  just  read  our  papers,  and  hear  the  talk  of  people. 
'  Thief,'  '  cut-throat,'  '  bandit,'  —  the  whole  of  them,  — 
not  one  of  these  Southern  men  that  has  in  him  any 
thing  to  respect.  You  know,  that  is  too  often  the  tone. 
I  hate  their  principles  and  institutions.  I  believe  they 
barbarize  men  ;  and  therefore  I  am  here,  and  in  this 
dress  :  but  I  will  not  believe  they  are  all  so  far  bar- 
barized, that  nothing  noble  is  left.  In  Claiborne  there 
is  something  glorious  still.  My  love  for  him  may  blind 
me,  you  may  think ;  or  —  no,  you  will  not,  for  you 
have  known  him  too ;  and  I  will  not  believe  he  is 
alone.  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  in  arras  on  the  other 
side;  yet  I  have  no  doubt,  with  all  his  passion  and 
violence,  in  many  ways  he  is  the  same  true  gentle- 
man, with  the  old  heroie  traits  for  which  I  have 
loved  him. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  when  I  burst  out  so 
about  this  want  of  chivalry?  Just  take  your  Shak- 
speare,  and  in  '  Henry  TV."  turn  to  that  challenge  of  the 
Prince  to  Hotspur  (I  am  glad  now  that  my  memory 
holds  my  old  reading  so  well)  ;  if  I  remember  right, 
it  is  something  like  this.  I  always  admired  the  gener- 
ous chivalry  of  the  passage  :  — 

<  The  Prince  of  Wales  doth  join  with  all  the  world 
In  praise  of  Henry  Percy.     By  ray  hopes,  — 
This  present  enterprise  set  off  his  head,  — 
I  do  not  think  a  braver  gentleman. 
More  active  valiant,  or  more  valiant  young, 
More  daring,  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive 
To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds.' 


126  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

"  Is  it  not  superb  !  So  he  talks,  —  the  fieiy,  mag- 
nanimous young  soul,  while  he  challenges  him.  Then, 
in  the  same  spirit,  he  fights  with  him,  you  know,  and 
slays  him ;    and  over  his  body,   says   something   like 

this :  —    . 

'  Brave  Percy  !    Fare  thee  well,  great  heart ! 
.  .  .  This  earth,  that  bears  thee  dead, 
Bears  not  alive  so  stout  a  gentleman. 
Adieu  !  and  take  thy  praise  with  thee  to  heaven  ! 
Thy  ignominy  sleep  with  thee  in  the  grave, 
But  not  remembered  in  thy  epitaph ! ' 

"  Now  what  is  there  unnatural  or  fantastic  in  that  ? 
He  is  a  grand  young  prince  ;  and  I  believe  in  his  spirit. 
How  sad  it  is,  and  yet  how  frequent  in  history,  for  men 
equally  conscientious  to  be  ranged  on  opposing  sides  ! 
I  suppose  there  is  no  way  but  for  each  to  follow  out  his 
id^a  of  right,  to  the  death  if  need  be.  I  do  not  claim 
that  there  is  much  of  the  *  Prince '  in  me  ;  but  there  is 
much  of  '  Hotspur'  in  Claiborne,  —  violent,  imperious, 
but  brave  and  magnanimous,  I  believe,  —  hot,  frank, 
and  bold,  with  swift,  masculine  fire  in  his  haughty, 
headstrong  soul.  If  Ave  meet,  we  shall  fight ;  for  I 
hate  his  cause,  as  he  does  mine  :  but  while  I  defy  him 
now,  I  hope  I  do  it  with  something  of  the  spirit  of 
that  superb  Prince  Hal." 


FIRE   BAPTISM.  127 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


FIRE     BAPTISM. 


The  Lowell  Regiment  is  working  hard  at  drill.  For 
Herbert  especially,  the  work  is  hard ;  for,  in  a  green 
ret^iment,  any  one  who  may  have  some  knowledge  of 
tactics  must  teach  others.  The  captain  of  Herbert's 
company  is  weak  and  sick ;  the  first  lieutenant,  igno- 
rant and  inefficient ;  the  second  willing,  but  not  posted. 
Herbert's  drill  with  the  "  Guards,"  in  old  times,  makes 
him  the  most  accomplished  man  in  that  way,  among  all 
these  hundred.  It  comes  out  httle  by  little,  that  this 
is  so  ;  and  the  work  of  the  drilling  is  given  over  pretty 
much  to  the  sergeant.  They  form  in  line  just  in  rear 
of  the  bank  of  earth, — their  protection, — that  they 
may  know  their  exact  positions  in  case  of  an  assault ; 
then,  by  the  hour,  it  is  from  the  "shoulder"  to  the 
"present,"  from  the  "order"  to  "ground;"  until,  by 
night,  as  well  as  by  day,  in  their  double  rank,  the  men 
grow  handy  with  their  pieces.  Herbert  comes  to  know 
the  feel  of  a  minie-ball,  as  he  did  once  the  handle  of 
his  oar;  and  powder  is  as  familiar  as  writing  sand. 
Herbert  stands  on  the  rampart  in  front  of  the  men, 
his  figure  relieved  against  the  sky  behind.      Prompt 


128  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

and  skilful  he  is,  with  his  shining  piece.  The  short 
blouse,  coming  to  the  hips,  fitting  close,  shows  the 
figure  well.  The  bright  "U.S."  burns  on  the  clasp  at 
the  waist ;  the  eagle  is  on  his  breast.  He  is  eager  and 
animated  in  these  days  ;  full  of  health  and  vigor,  —  as 
fine  and  manly  a  soldier  as  the  nation  has. 

Herbert  is  faithful,  even  in  the  small  drudgery  of 
soldiers'  life.  Brasses  are  polished.  No  stitch  is  want- 
ing in  the  knapsack ;  no  rust  or  blur,  from  butt  to 
muzzle,  on  plate  or  band,  on  sight  or  ring,  is  visible 
upon  his  rifle.  At  inspection,  the  colonel  holds  his 
gloved  hand  for  Herbert's  piece.  The  sergeant  flings 
it  up  from  the  "  order,"  into  his  left  hand,  and  passes 
it.  It  rings  clear  as  silver,  as  the  colonel  thrusts  the 
rammer  into  the  barrel ;  and  the  white  glove  comes 
away  spotless  from  the  contact.  "  Sergeant,  yours 
will  do,"  —  and  the  colonel  gives  him  a  frank  smile  ; 
for  it  is  coming  to  be  generally  known  in  the  regiment, 
that  it  is  a  fine  specimen  of  manhood  that  wears  the 
chevrons  there,  so  well-formed  and  active,  straight  and 
strong,  bearing  easily  his  pack. 

One  night,  in  his  tent,  —  boom,  boom,  fifteen 
miles  away,  —  Herbert  hears  a  distant  cannonade. 
He  comes  from  his  place  beside  the  sleepers,  and,  stand- 
ing at  the  door,  can  see  through  the  night  the  far-flash- 
ing of  the  guns.  In  an  hour  or  two,  a  lead-colored 
gunboat  —  watchman  at  masthead,  eleven-inch  gun 
sleeping  dark  under  the  moon  amidships  —  speeds  up 
in  silence  with  pressing  despatch.  In  a  few  minutes,  a 
step  through   the  lines   of   tents :    it  is   the   sergeant- 


FIRE   BAPTISM.  129 

major,  —  "  more  force  wanted  on  the  pickets  ; "  from 
this  company  a  sergeant  and  six  men  must  go  out  at 
once.  Stowell  is  sick,  Sanderson  is  just  off  duty,  Sikes 
is  to  go  on  to-morrow.  Herbert  must  go.  His  can- 
teen is  already  filled.  There  are  beef  and  bread  in  the 
haversack  for  breakfast.  The  two  blankets  are  speedily 
strapped  into  a  roll,  and  hung  at  the  side.  Guns  are 
loaded;  and  the  sergeant,  with  his  men,  reports  for 
duty.  They  go  silently ;  for  to-night  all  know  that  it 
is  a  service  of  some  hazard.  The  enemy  are  close  at 
hand ;  and,  in  case  of  attack,  these  receive  the  first 
onset,  while  the  army  behind  rallies  at  the  long  roll. 
A  lieutenant-colonel  rides  at  the  head  of  the  column : 
silently  on,  through  a  gap  in  the  parapet,  — the  sentry 
on  each  side  saluting,  —  presently  to  the  left,  by  a 
ruined  building,  and  the  suburbs  of  the  town  are 
reached.  Here  is  encamped  the  brigade  farthest  out. 
Beyond  this,  the  detachment  moving  comes  into  the 
region  of  pickets.  A  few  steps  more  now,  and  they 
will  come  into  the  belt  of  neutral  territory,  —  visited 
by  reconnoitring  parties  from  both  sides,  —  extending 
out  five  or  six  miles,  to  where  it  is  believed  the  rebel 
videttes  are  posted. 

"  Silent,  men,"  —  it  is  the  order.  Open  fields  now 
are  on  each  side,  and  in  front  a  tall  forest,  which  looms 
dim  at  first,  but  becomes  more  plain,  — tall  magnolias, 
the  gum-tree,  and  live-oak,  hung  with  gray  moss. 
The  liijht  is  faint :  and  the  sections  in  advance  stumble 
over  a  telegraph  wire,  stretched  across  the  road  at 
about  the  height  of  a  man's  knees.     At  the  same  time, 

6* 


130  THE    THr^KIXG    BAYONET. 

sounds  out  the  hail  of  a  sentry.  The  column  halts, 
comes  to  a  front,  uith  the  arms  at  the  order.  The 
moon  is  down ;  but,  by  the  starliglit,  Herbert  can  just 
see  his  position.  It  is  a  point  where  the  street  of  the 
town  becomes  a  country  road.  A  rough  barricade  is 
built  across  the  roadway,  in  the  middle  of  which  is  an 
open  gate.  At  the  gate  are  two  sentries,  silent,  and 
sharply  on  the  watch ;  and  a  strong  guard  standing  in 
the  rear.  For  half  a  mile  or  so  beyond  here,  pickets 
are  stationed, — two  or  three  men,  —  silent,  without 
fire ;  motionless,  with  gun  in  hand.  A  rod  or  two 
beyond  the  outmost  of  these  posts,  is  a  solitary  cavalry 
vidette  ;  then  the  enemy.  Herbert  and  his  comrades 
crouch  down  for  the  time  being,  under  a  fence  near. 
He  spreads  his  rubber  blanket,  puts  his  back  against 
the  fence,  shares  his  woollen  blanket  with  an  Irish 
soldier  who  happens  to  be  next  to  him,  and  is  ready  for 
the  night :  not  much  prospect  of  sleep,  even  suppos- 
ing there  were  no  apprehension ;  for  now  and  then 
comes  a  gust  of  rain. 

A  sergeant  off  duty  comes  up  from  the  gate,  rtnd 
talks  low  among  the  men.  During  the  day,  a  strong, 
hostile  cavalry  fofce  has  approached  within  a  short  mile 
of  where  Herbert  is  now  lying.  They  crowded  the 
road  close  before  the  vidette,  within  easy  cannon  range ; 
all  in  gray  and  butternut,  restless,  with  slouched  hats, 
and  carbines.  Moreover,  the  distant  cannonading  is 
thought  to  betoken  activity  on  the  part  of  the  foe. 
This  is  why  the  extra  reserve  is  called  out.  The  ser- 
geant goes  back;  and  soon  comes  a  stout,  tall  captain, 


FIRE    BAPTISM.  131 

—  officer  of  the  grand  guard.  He  chats  sociably;  has 
been  cutting  trees,  magnohas,  just  along  there  in  the 
road, — "tougher'n  torment"  they  are, — this  is  to 
impede  the  rebel  advance,  in  case  of  an  attack.  Pre- 
sently, he  goes  too.  Herbert  cannot  sleep.  If  he 
nods,  a  poke  from  his  bayonet-sheath  sets  his  eyes  open 
again,  or  his  gun  slips  out  of  the  hollow  of  his  arm, 
into  the  wet.  He  hears  the  sword  of  a  dragoon  hitting 
the  steps  in  succession,  as  he  comes  out  of  a  house 
near ;  then  sees  him  mount  his  horse,  and  gallop  out  to 
relieve  a  vidette,  sabre  jingling  at  his  side,  right  hand 
upon  the  lock  of  his  Sharpe's  rifle.  Presently,  the 
vidette  relieved  comes  trotting  in,  splashed,  and  sleepy 
from  his  vigil. 

The  night  is  passing.  The  insects  pipe,  dogs  in  the 
distance  bark,  now  and  then  comes  the  distant  firing 
of  a  gun.  The  outposts  are  quiet  out  there  in  the  dim 
wood ;  so  are  the  foe,  no  one  knows  how  near,  but  not 
far  beyond.     Herbert  at  last  falls  into  a  drowse. 

Suddenly  a  volley  rattles  close  at  hand.  Herbert 
starts  to  his  feet,  to  find  every  thing  in  activity.  On 
the  double-quick,  the  outer  pickets,  with  pieces  just 
discharged,  rally  in  upon  the  reserve.  The  drums  of 
the  outer  brigade  are  beating  just  behind.  The  post  is 
attacked.  "We  must  have  more  light  here,"  says  the 
colonel  commanding  the  outpost.  "Set  the  house  afire 
there,  captain  ;  we  must  get  sight  of  their  advance  :  " 
and  he  gallops  off  to  form  his  reserves  in  line,  to  resist 
the  rush,  as  well  as  possible,  while  the  army  behind 
springs  to  arms.     The  captain  turns  to  Herbert ;  and 


132  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

he,  with  his  squad,  leaps  up  the  steps  of  the  house. 
Upon  the  hearth,  in  one  of  the  rooms,  smoulder  a  few- 
brands.  There  is  a  litter  of  straw  in  the  corner;  and, 
in  a  moment,  the  room  is  in  a  blaze.  They  hurry  out, 
to  find  that  the  pickets  are  already  falling  back.  Quick 
about  their  heads,  as  they  run,  fly  bullets  from  behind. 
The  flames  are  streaming  out  of  the  windows,  and 
catching  the  clapboards  outside  ;  so  that  Herbert  and  his 
party  can  be  seen.  They  keep  close  in  the  shadow  of 
the  fence,  and  hurry  forward. 

In  the  camp,  the  men  sleep  on  their  arms,  as  they 
often  do.  Spies  have  brought  in  word  of  suspicious 
signs ;  so,  at  retreat,  at  seven  o'clock  the  evening  be- 
fore, the  men  had  been  ordered  to  make  sure  of  their 
pieces.  "Are  your  cartridges  right?  Thornton,  you 
who  are  sick  must  give  your  cartridges  to  stout  Mike 
Flaherty.  Load  the  guns  well  to-night."  So,  all 
night,  at  the  head  of  each  soldier  stood  his  trusty  gun. 
At  three  o'clock,  —  now  clear  from  the  southward,  then 
fast  through  the  camp  northward,  —  sweeps  the  rattling 
alarm,  rolling  hot  and  sharp  ;  now  throbbing  faint,  now 
thundering  harsh,  through  the  mist.  The  colonel  com- 
manding the  brigade,  with  his  staff"  behind,  comes  at  a 
sweeping  gallop  along  the  tents.  To  the  commander 
of  the  Lowell  Regiment,  "  Colonel,  do  you  hear  the 
long  roll?"  Then,  with  his  sw^ord  drawn,  and  point- 
ing, "  To  your  post  at  the  parapet  instantly  !  "  Where 
before  have  we  heard  that  voice,  now  an  energetic 
shout?  Where  have  we  seen  that  dark  and  patrician 
face? 


FIRE   BAPTISM.  133 

In  another  minute,  the  regiment,  a  little  lagging  at 
first,  responds  to  the  sonorous  "  battalion  ! "  of  the  col- 
onel ;  and,  full  armed,  have  manned  the  lines.  Drop- 
ping, far-away  volleys.  The  brigade  thrown  out,  as  it 
falls  back  within  the  lines,  now  from  an  angle  of  the 
road,  now  from  the  summit  of  the  hill,  pour  volleys 
behind  them,  where  the  rebel  infantry,  plainly  seen  in 
the  light  of  the  burning  buildings,  which  are  now  nu- 
merous, hurry  on  in  pursuit.  It  is  dark,  cold,  and  damp. 
•Herbert  regains  the  regiment,  to  find  them'  standing 
ankle-deep  in  mud  and  wet,  with  the  chill,  deadly  air 
of  the  night  beginning  to  penetrate  to  their  very  mar- 
row as  they  wait.  Two  or  three  fall,  and  are  carried 
fainting  back  to  their  damp  blankets.  A  week  from 
now,  when  the  dead  from  the  coming  battle  have  been 
buried,  the  soldiers  must  go  also  to  the  funerals  of 
these ;    for  already  they  are  struck  with  death. 

The  brigadier  is  again  galloping  this  way.  Muffled 
in  his  cloak,  he  plunges  on  ;  his  horse's  feet  splashing  in 
the  soil ;  then,  as  he  comes  down  into  a  walk,  sucking 
moist  as  they  are  lifted  out  of  the  sloppy  clay.  He 
draws  rein  at  last ;  and  his  horse's  head,  it  so  happens, 
is  close  at  the  stout  shoulder  of  Herbert,  third  ser- 
geant, as  he  stands  in  his  place,  a  pace  or  two  in  the 
rear  of  the  files.  How  dark  and  raw  it  is  !  The  glare 
from  the  front  now  shines  back  upon  the  shivering  line 
of  men  ;  upon  the  sergeant,  with  his  musket  aport,  and 
hand  on  the  lock,  as  he  stands  in  the  mud ;  upon  the 
face  of  the  horseman,  looking  out  into  the  night;  over 
the  caps  of  the  men  ;  over  the  ridge  of  earth ;  out  to 


134  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

where  the  rifles  are  cracking,  now  singly,  now  in  a 
long  volley.  Do  we  know  the  face,  dark  and  hand- 
some, haughty  and  cold?  It  is  Holyoake  again,  rising 
through  the  influence  of  friends,  and  through  his  own 
merit ;  and  his  horse's  mouth,  as  it  champs  the  bit, 
almost  drops  the  foam  upon  Herbert's  shoulder. 

A  young  aide,  just  from  college,  rides  up  shrugging 
in  his  cloak  under  the  chilly  air.  "Ah,  well!"  says 
Holyoake,  for  a  moment  taking  his  eye  from  the  front, 
and  smiling  at  the  young  lieutenant :  "it  is  raw."  Then 
he  goes  on  to  give  the  fiimiliar  Latin  phrase,  meaning 
that  it  will  be  something  pleasant  to  remember  here- 
after. The  young  aide  laughs,  and  says  nothing. 
Herbert  has  recognized  Holyoake,  and  stands  bewil- 
dered in  his  surprise.  Holyoake,  in  giving  the  quota- 
tion, has  omitted  a  word  or  two  of  the  Latin ;  and, 
without  thinking,  Herbert  completes  the  sentence  by 
putting  in  the  omitted  words.  They  are  in  his  mind  ; 
and  in  his  bewilderment,  without  intending  it,  he  gives 
them  voice.  He  does  not  speak  much  above  his  breath  ; 
but  it  reaches  Holyoake's  ear.  Herbert  stands  without 
turning ;  fearing  that  he  has  betrayed  himself.  Hol- 
yoake starts  ;  either  recognizing  the  voice,  or  receiving 
from  it  an  unpleasant  suggestion.  The  sergeant  stands 
in  his  place,  still  and  tall,  with  blue  overcoat-collar 
turned  up  about  the  face,  and  broad-vizored  cap  dra\^^l 
down  to  meet  it.  Perhaps  the  colonel  is  afraid  to  fol- 
low up  his  suspicion,  or  perhaps  he  does  not  care  to. 
At  any  rate,  he  shakes  the  rein  upon  his  horse's  neck, 
and  rides  rapidly  off"  in  the  rear  of  his  regiments,  —  one 


FinE   BAPTISM.  1^^ 


beyond  another  in  the  red  glare, -drawn  up  in  solemn 

line  of  battle. 

The  crash  of  artillery  has  already  sounded,     iirst  a 
solitary  -un ;  then  roar  upon  roar  from  the  impatient 
batteries:     Now  it  is  from  the  parapet;  now  the  rebel 
guns,  sweeping  up  on  the  gallop  to  the  little  hill  half  a 
mile  away,  have  unlimbered  and  opened.      Splash  m 
the  mud  I   a  shell  falls  near  the  sergeant.     He  is  be- 
spattered, and  two  men  out  of  the  line  a^e  carried  back 
bleedino-.     Presently,  through   the   night,   among  the 
tall  chimneys  left  standing;  out  from  behind  the  heaps 
of  rubbish  where  houses  have  stood ;  creeping  and  run- 
nino- ;  a  knot  of  two  or  three  now  tumbling  into  the  old 
wells  of  the  houses,  left  uncovered  for  pitfalls  ;  a  com- 
pany in  line  now  wavering  and  breaking  a  little,  as  one 
flank  or  the  other  strikes  an  obstruction,  then  dressing 
up  manfully  as  they  come  to  a  clear  and  open  space; 
advancing  irregularly,  and  yet  in  as  good  order  as  the 
obstructed  ground  will  allow, -the  hostile  storming- 
party   hurry   forward.      The    line    is    open,    that   the 
volleys    from  the   Federal  earth  -  work    may  be   less 
deadly.     From  covert  to  covert ;  now  and  then  taking 
breath;  they  creep  and  run,  — at  first,  dark,  almost  in- 
distinguishable shapes  in  the  quivering  glare ;   then,  as 
they  Tome  nearer,  showing  the  slouched  hat  above  the 
fierce  face,  and  the  loose  gray  suit.     Herbert  can  see 
as  he  peers  above  the  parapet,  —meantime  shells  hum- 
mino-  sharp  about  his  ears  from  the  rebel  batteries,  and 
rifle-bullets  singing,  as  the  enemy  try  to  sweep  clear 
the  brow  of  the  intrenchment,  —Herbert  can  see,  here 


136  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

and  there,  an  officer,  and  one  brave  field-officer,  whose 
duty  it  is  to  keep  straiglit  and  watchful  in  the  charge, 
while  his  men  o^o  crouchinji:. 

Meantime  Herbert's  regiment  has  for^jotten  the  chill 
of  the  morning.  Careless  of  the  wet,  they  lie  with 
breasts  against  the  sloping  ridge ;  and,  fast  as  they  can 
load,  they  fire.  Twist  the  ball  out  of  the  tough  paper 
of  the  cartridge;  pour  the  powder  down  the  barrel, 
letting  the  cone  of  lead  slide  in  afterward ;  tap  it  with 
your  ramrod,  and  take  aim. 

Of  this  company,  now,  there  is  no  commissioned 
officer  on  duty.  The  first  and  second  sergeants,  un- 
trained and  bewildered,  can  do  nothing ;  and  all  look 
to  Herbert.  He  is  calm  and  confident,  and  gives 
orders  in  a  deep,  strong  tone.  A  bullet  tears  through 
his  sleeve  into  the  muscle  of  the  fore-arm,  just  above 
the  wrist ;  but  he  twists  his  handkerchief  about  the 
wound,  and  does  not  go  from  his  place.  It  is  doubt- 
ful. They  come  nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  shouts  of 
the  rebel  captains,  and  cries  of  the  men,  sound  over 
through  the  roar  and  rattle.  At  last  a  party  have 
gained  the  very  ditch  at  the  foot  of  the  earth- work,  and 
a  bold  head  or  two  are  actually  thrust  up  on  the  otlier 
side.  It  is  critical ;  but,  through  the  darkness  and  red 
glare,  the  light  of  day  begins  to  break. 

Hark  I  so  heavy,  deep,  and  long-drawn ;  so  bitterly 
thunderous  !  It  is  the  ordnance  of  the  men-of-war ; 
and  the  shells  begin  to  groan  and  hurtle  now  into  the 
battle  like  planetary  bodies  diverted  from  their  orbits, 
and  come  to  blast  the  earth.     Close  at  hand,  it  crashes 


FIRE    BAPTISM. 


137 


like  doom ;  and,  fifty  miles  away,  listening  villages  are 
wondering  at  the  sullen  rumble.  It  is  too  much. 
With  the  increasing  light,  the  ships  see  how  to  plant 
the  shells.  The  batteries  on  the  hill  limber  up.  and 
gallop  away,  while  the  bombs  explode  around  and  among 
them.  The  rebel  reserves  at  the  edge  of  the  woods 
fall  back  into  the  forest.  The  storming-party  returns 
routed,  leaving  dead  and  wounded  along  its  track  ;  sad 
swaths  of  them  close  in  front  of  the  intrenchment ; 
two  here  behind  a  bush ;  three  here  in  a  well ;  a  little 
pile  in  front  of  a  chimney ;  one  there  on  the  broken 
pavement.  The  men  in  the  ditch  outside,  within  arm's 
length  of  the  defenders,  call  for  quarter,  and  presently 
come  climbing  over  :  bearded  and  brown  ;  smeared  with 
mud,  and  wet  with  sweat ;  some  supporting  wounded 
comrades ;  some  sullen  ;  some  good-natured,  glad  that 
they  are  out  of  it  and  alive.  Then  Herbert  goes  with 
his  wounded  arm  to  the  surgeons. 


138  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE     CANDIDATE. 


From  Putnam  May  to  Louisa  May. 

"Dear  Lou, — I  can  write  more  fully  to  you  than  to 
any  one  I  know.  I  am  blue  to-day.  It  comes  rather 
hard,  this  first  taking  hold  of  preaching.  I  am  inclined 
to  be  sorry  that  my  course  of  study  is  ended,  and  that 
my  quiet  life  here  must  close.  Not  that  I  would  shrink 
from  my  work.  I  desire  to  play  my  part  well ;  but  I 
find  I  must  meet  with  some  rubs,  harder  than  I  ever 
believed  were  in  store  for  me. 

*'  Sunday  I  preached  as  a  candidate  for  the  first  time. 
They  want  a  minister  at  Slocumville,  and  are  hearing 
our  class.  It  is  a  village  which  has  sprung  up  within 
ten  or  twelve  years,  within  one  of  the  old  townships  of 
the  State,  in  consequence  of  the  shoe -trade.  It  is 
named  after  its  founder, — Epaphras  Slocum, — who 
began  life  when  the  shoe-manufacture,  on  a  large  scale, 
was  just  engaging  attention,  and  who  has  been  very 
prosperous.  I  believe  I  went  to  Slocumville  with  the 
sincere  desire  to  do  good.  I  had  taken  great  pains 
with  my  sermons.  I  dreaded  it ;  for  I  knew  I  was  to 
be  pulled  to  pieces.     Few  would  come  with  any  other 


THE    CANDIDATE.  139 

design  than  to  criticise.  My  praying,  as  well  as  my 
preaching,  voice,  appearance,  garments  even,  I  knew, 
were  to  be  submitted  for  judgment.  There  is  no  other 
way,  I  suppose ;  but,  oh !  if  one  has  any  delicacy,  he 
would  almost  rather  be  flayed. 

"  I  kept  this  view  of  the  matter  out  of  mind  as  much 
as  I  could,  trying  to  feel  that  I  was  going  out  simply 
to  do  people  good.  During  the  preceding  week,  I  tried 
to  entertain  devout  thoughts  in  a  greater  degree  than 
usual ;  for  I  was  about  to  take  an  important  step.  I 
read  much  in  those  old  poems  of  Wither,  George  Her- 
bert, Southwell,  and  the  others,  —  which  you  know  I 
love  so  well ;  trying  to  steep  my  soul  in  their  piety, 
so  sweetly  and  quaintly  put.  I  desire  to  have  Sunday 
seem  to  me,  as  it  did  to  old  Yaughan,  — 

*  Heaven  once  a  week ; 
The  next  world's  gladnesse  prepossest  in  this.' 

I  tried  to  arm  myself  against  disappointment  by  cher- 
ishing a  true  humility.  I  read  again  and  again  South-' 
well's  rhyme,  — 

*  Silk  sails  of  largest  size 

The  storm  doth  soonest  tear : 
I  bear  so  low  and  small  a  sail 
As  freeth  me  iQrom  fear.' 

That  and  the  verses  near  it ;  trying  so  to  humble  my- 
self that  nothing  should  affect  me. 

"It  was  a  damp,  dreary  afternoon  at  last,  when  I  left 
the  hall ;  a  quiet  place  under  its  trees.  It  has  become 
now  like  home  to  me  :  cool  in  summer,  cozy  in  winter ; 


140  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  library  below,  the  chapel  above ;  the  entries  like 
cloisters.  The  train  was  crowded  with  brusque  people 
of  business  on  their  way  home  to  spend  Sunday ;  full 
of  rough,  robust  health  for  the  most  part ;  loud-voiced, 
burly,  fresh-colored.  I  am  small  at  the  best ;  and  my 
student-life  makes  me  pale  and  slender.  As  I  walked 
in  to  find  my  seat,  with  black  satchel  and  clothes,  and 
felt  the  unsympathetic  stare  of  people,  I  fancied  they 
could  see  at  once,  that  I  was  a  young  candidate.  You 
may  say,  '  What  if  they  did  ? '  and  I  said  to  myself 
then,  '  What  if  they  do  ?  what  is  there  to  be  ashamed 
of  ?  *  but  I  could  not  help  shrinking. .  I  know  I  am 
unduly  sensitive  about  my  personal  appearance.  What 
would  I  not  give  for  the  muscle  and  fine  height  of  some 
of  my  friends  !  I  am  puny,  and  have  so  little  voice  I 
I  know  I  rank  well  as  a  scholar,  and  have  a  name  really 
worth  having  as  a  writer,  even  among  men  who  know  ; 
but  how  I  covet,  sometimes,  these  grand  physical  gifts, 
—  this  superb  vigor  and  masculine  beauty  !  (These 
'  confessions  and  boastings  to  you  alone,  Lou,  my  other 
self!) 

"  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached  Slo- 
cumville.  The  village  has  sprung  up  on  a  bare,  bleak, 
uncultivated  tract.  The  soil  is  mere  sand  ;  yellow  and 
arid  along  the  streets,  except  where,  in  front  of  the 
shops,  scraps  of  refuse  leather  have  been  thrown  out  to 
rot  and  mould.  Slocum's  shop,  the  principal  one  in 
the  villaore,  was  kroner  than  those  about  it.  All  were 
built  on  the  same  general  plan :  long,  with  the  win- 
dows set  close  on  the  sides,  having  a  most  ugly,  staring 


THE    CANDIDATE.  141 

effect.  Generally,  the  shops  were  painted  white ;  but, 
through  the  damp,  they  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  most 
unclean  look  about  the  doors  and  windows,  wherever 
dirty  fingers  could  come  in  contact  with  them.  The 
streets  were  lined  with  cheap  and  tasteless  houses. 
There  were  numbers  of  children,  and,  at  the  windows, 
women  binding  shoes.  There  were  no  trees  of  any 
size ;  though  in  front  of  some  cottages  of  more  preten- 
sion, belonging  probably  to  bosses  and  proprietors  of 
shops,  trees  had  been  set  out.  Slocum's  house,  large 
and  square,  with  a  cupola  and  projecting  roof,  hung 
thick  with  knobs  and  points,  —  a  pimple,  then  a  stalac- 
tite,—  stood  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  streets.  There  are 
really  tasteful  places  a  mile-  or  so  beyond,  by  a  beauti- 
ful river,  occupied  by  most  agreeable  families,  who 
attend  church  at  Slocumville ;  but  these  I  did  not  see 
till  the  next  day. 

"  I  came  at  last  to  the  church ;  in  planning  and 
building  which,  there  had  plainly  been  a  serious  con- 
flict between  ambition  and  economy.  It  was  in  Gothic 
style,  with  a  tower  at  the  corner.  About  the  doors 
and  windows  were  luxuriant  mouldings.  It  was  quite 
small,  however,  and  built  of  lath  and  boards.  Down 
over  the  wooden  buttresses  and  pinnacles,  the  dampness 
of  the  day  fell  drearily ;  washing  off,  little  by  little,  the 
thin  painting,  till  the  hue  of  the  wood  beneath  appeared. 
The  door  stood  open,  and  I  looked  in.  Spindling  joists 
and  beams  supported  the  spire.  Passing  from  the  ves- 
tibule into  the  church,  I  found  the  walls  frescoed,  in 
the  most  florid  manner,  into  arches  and  recesses ;  the 


142  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

ceiling  tasselated  with  great  intersecting  beams,  —  all 
in  cheap  water-colors,  and  stained  in  many  places  where 
the  rain  had  leaked  through  the  roof. 

"I  was  to  stop  with  Mr.  Simon  Tarbell,  and  pres- 
ently found  his  house.  It  was  bran-new ;  close  upon 
the  road.  Mr.  Tarbell  answered  my  ring,  —  a  lame 
man  between  fifty  and  sixty,  —  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with 
hat  on,  and  very  dirty  hands.  His  hair  was  scanty  and 
white ;  his  forehead  wrinkled ;  his  eye  gray,  sharp, 
and  good-natured.  His  son,  it  seems,  has  risen  to  be 
partner  here  in  one  of  the  shops.  The  father  sold  his 
farm  as  his  son's  prospects  brightened,  put  his  money 
into  this  house,  and  now  works  in  the  shop  of  his  son  ; 
for  labor  is  so  divided  in  this  business,  that  an  inex- 
perienced person,  after  a  day  or  two,  becomes  a  tolera- 
ble  hand.  The  son,  I  heard,  had  just  enlisted.  The 
family,  besides  the  head  and  the  son,  consists  of  ]\Irs. 
Tarbell,  and  a  daughter  who  was  introduced  as  '  Mal- 
viny.' 

"Now,  believe  me,  Lou,  I  have  no  desire  to  hold  up 
this  family  to  ridicule,  or  to  speak  with  disrespect  of 
them  in  any  way.  They  are  worthy  people,  and  were 
hospitable  to  me ;  but  I  can  write  to  you  as  I  could 
to  another  self.  Of  course,  this  letter  will  not  be 
seen.  No  doubt  I  am  too  delicate  and  fastidious ; 
but  the  tastes  and  ways  of  these  people  !  What  shall 
I  do,  if  this  is  the  world  that  I  must  come  into  contact 
with? 

"Mrs.  Tarbell  appeared  at  tea,  —  a  matron  silent 
and  serious,  wearing  a  front  of  brown  hair,  with  a  cap 


THE    CANDIDATE.  143 

behind.  She  was  a  fleshy  person.  Take  a  bright 
spoon ;  hold  it  horizontally ;  then  look  at  your  face  in 
the  back  of  the  bowl.  You  will  find  that  your  nose 
becomes  very  fat,  and  that  your  cheeks  distend.  The 
space  between  the  eyes  becomes  very  wide,  and  the 
mouth  enlarges  ;  while  the  forehead  above  is  reduced  to 
the  smallest  dimensions  ;  and  so  the  chin  below.  The 
countenance  of  ]Mrs.  Tarbell  was  as  a  lady's  face  re- 
flected in  the  bo^vl  of  a  spoon.  At  supper  also  ap- 
peared *Malviny,' — a  very  plain  young  woman,  w4th 
bad  teeth.  I  did  my  best  to  be  agreeable ;  but  Mrs. 
Tarbell  refused  to  be  interested.  The  father  now  and 
then  put  in  a  remark  in  broad  Yankee ;  and  once  I 
made  '  Malviny '  smile ;  but  the  spectacle  was  so  mel- 
ancholy, that  I  preferred,  after  that,  to  confine  myself 
to  serious  topics. 

"  When  tea  was  over,  we  sat  in  the  parlor,  where 
every  thing  was  new  and  very  cheap.  Miss  Minerva 
Jones's  Poems  lay  upon  the  table,  among  the  daguer- 
ro types ;  violently  red  in  its  sheepskin,  and  so  brassy 
with  its  gilding,  that  I  am  sure  the  volume  must  have 
pushed  its  way  to  fame,  though  unknown  to  me.  In 
the  pictures,  'Malviny '  was  given  in  pink,  with  elabor- 
ately-gilded brooch,  ear -pendants,  and  rings.  The 
gilding  lay  upon  the  plate  in  masses,  standing  out  dis- 
tinct, with  the  likeness,  which  was  faint,  in  the  back- 
ground. 

"I  accidentally  discovered  that  Mrs.  Tarbell,  whom 
I  had  come  to  consider  as  impregnable,  had  her  vulner- 
able spot.     Happening  to  allude  to  a  case  of  small-pox 


144  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

which  had  come  under  my  notice  shortly  before,  while 
busy  with  missionary- work,  I  noticed  that  her  features, 
from  their  rigidity,  smoothed  out  into  a  pleased  and 
benevolent  expression.  Noticing  this,  I  went  a  little 
more  fully  into  diseases  ;  Mrs.  Tarbell's  delight  appear- 
ing to  become  more  intense  in  proportion  as  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  disorder  were  horrible.  At  length, 
she  fairly  beamed  with  joy,  and  fluently  reciprocated, 
with  an  account  of  a  most  mysterious  and  novel  disease, 
in  which  the  subjects  were  curled  up  backwards,  until 
the  heels  and  head  nearly  touched.  She  followed  this 
with  a  catalogue  of  the  ailments  of  which  herself  and 
family  were  the  victims  ;  the  period  at  which  Malviny 
and  Pharcellus  had  had  the  measles  ;  winding  up  at 
last  with  a  complete  account,  from  first  to  last,  of  a 
fever-sore  which  had  deprived  Mr.  Tarbell  of  a  portion 
of  his  shin-bone, — appearance,  treatment  and  all, — 
producing  at  last  the  very  piece  of  bone  that  had 
finally  come  out. 

"  I  withdrew  at  length  to  my  room,  a  little  homesick. 
I  had  no  reason  at  all  to  feel .  that  these  people  did  not 
wish  to  be  kind  to  me.  They  did  their  best,  I  am 
sure,  to  treat  their  guest  well.  Mrs.  Tarbell's  house- 
keeping seemed  to  me  excellent.  The  table  was  as 
neat  as  could  be  ;  and  nothing  could  be  fresher  and 
whiter  than  the  bed  in  which  I  slept.  I  hope  you  will 
not  think  I  mean  to  ridicule  them,  even  in  this  private 
letter  to  you  ;  but  I  could  not  help  thinking,  Saturday 
night,  that  if  this  were  a  specimen  of  the  Slocumville 
congregation,  of  what  earthly  use  would  be  my  elabo- 


THE    CANDIDATE.  145 

rate  and  rather  subtle  sermon  upon  the  *  co-existence 
of  the  qualities  of  activity  and  rest  in  the  nature  of  the 
Deity ! '  It  was  rather  bitterly  that  I  thought  of  the 
morrow. 

"  After  breakfast  in  the  morning,  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred privacy. .  The  air  was  quite  raw,  however  ;  and, 
there  being  no  way  of  warming  my  room,  I  was 
obliged  to  go  into  the  parlor  with  the  family.  Here 
I  saw  Pharcellus  for  the  first  time,  —  a  man  whom  I 
thoroughly  respect.  He  has  left  his  business,  in  which 
his  prospects  were  excellent,  to  enlist.  At  this  time, 
he  was  at  home  on  furlough  from  the  camp  of  his  regi- 
ment, which  will  soon  march.  I  talked  enough  with 
him  to  discover,  beneath  his  uncouth  exterior  and 
Yankee  accent,  grand  patriotism  and  stubborn  courage. 
There  was  something  very  heroic  in  his  rough  figure, 
—  when  I  came  to  understand  his  temper,  —  clothed  in 
the  soldier's  blue,  dusty  and  stained  already,  from  the 
overcrowded  tents.  His  self-sacrifice  is  really  grand. 
Poor  fellow  !  he  has  little  sympathy  from  his  parents,  I 
fancy.  The  father  bewailed  his  son's  foolishness,  and 
made  much  of  the  grievance  which  he  himself  was  to 
suffer,  in  having  '  Pharcie  go  now,  jest  when  he'd  broke 
up,  and  come  to  stay  with  him.  Pharcie'd  find  t'want 
a  payin'  thing ;  he  might  jest  count  on  that.'  The 
mother  was  silent ;  but  I  could  see  that  Pharcie  was 
sustained  by  the  sympathy  of  his  plain  sister.  The 
young  man  was  obliged  to  return  to  camp  before  ser- 
vice ;  and  it  was  with  real  reverence  that  I  shook  his 
rough  hand  when  he  rose  to  go. 

7 


146  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

"  Before  church,  there  came  in  a  great  dog,  which 
smelt  of  my  boots,  then  jumped  with  his  dirty  paws 
right  upon  my  black  suit.  '  Ah  !  that's  Nap,'  said  ]Mr. 
Tarbell.  'My  dog,  you  see,  Mr.  May,  can  tell  a 
preacher,  I  b'lieve,  far  as  he  can  smell  him.  Sence 
the  meetin-'us  was  built,  you  see,  we've  had  forty-one 
different  ministers  down  here  to  Slocumville,  and 
he's  got  used  to  'em.  T'other  Sunday,  a  young  chap 
come  down,  and  fetched  his  cousin  along,  —  a  lawyer, 
—  and  old  Nap,  he  nosed  round  both  their  shins ;  and 
blessed  if  I  don't  believe  he  could  tell  which  was  the 
preacher.  He  snapped  and  growled  at  that  ar  lawyer, 
till  Pharcie  here  had  to  turn  himr  out.  Never  you 
mind  if  he  does  kind  o'  make  himself  free.  It's  all 
well  meant.'  I  could  not  help  protesting  here,  that  I 
was  fond  of  dogs ;  and  that  Nap,  in  particular,  was*  a 
splendid  fellow.  After  this,  I  hardly  dared  to  resist 
his  blandishments,  whatever  the  consequences  might  be. 
An  hour's  work  with  the  clothes-brush  has  hardly 
obliterated  the  marks  of  his  embraces  from  my  shoul- 
ders down. 

"  I  asked  a  few  questions  about  the  church,  —  dodg- 
ing the  nose  of  the  dog,  who  persisted  in  trying  to  lay 
his  cheek  against  mine ;  lamenting  inwardly  my  rash- 
ness, which  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  seem 
otherwise  then  pleased.  '  Well,  the  pulpit  was  kind  o' 
queer  :  had  a  door  underneath,  and  the  stairs  was  in 
under,  out  of  sight.  ISIr.  Jones,  he  come  once  to 
preach,  and  had  a  kind  o'  funny  time.  He  went  up 
the  aisle  to  one  side  of  the  pulpit,  and  the  stairs  wasn't 


THE    CANDIDATE,  147 

there.  Then  he  went  round  to  the  other  side,  and  they 
wasn't  there.  Then  he  came  round  in  front,  kind  o' 
flustered,  and  looked  up,  so  it  sort  of  seemed  to  the 
folks  that  he  was  goin'  to  climb  up.  The  folks  \yas  all 
come ;  for  it  was  gettin'  late,  and  Bijah  Nevers,  he'd 
got  through  some  time  playin'  'eija  in  on  the  organ : 
but  Sam  Trull,  he  sets  jest  at  the  side,  he  come  out 
and  showed  where  the  door  was,  underneath.  After 
he  got  up,  it  didn't  go  all  smooth.  You  see,  inside  it 
ain't  a  first-rate  arrangement,  and  the  committee  are 
goin'  to  see  to  it.  You  have  to  go  up  two  or  three 
staii's  from  the  seat,  before  you  git  to  the  standin'  place. 
That's  a  block  not  very  wide,  and  a  leetle  onsteady. 
TVell,  ]\Ir.  Jones,  he  was  a  bashful  feller,  and  was 
flustered  yet;  and  I  van,  if  he  didn't  step  on  the  edge 
of  the  block,  so  it  tumbled  over,  and  he  fell  with  it. 
Some  on  'em  laughed,  but  I  felt  mighty  sorry ;  for  he 
was  that  kind  of  man  to  take  it  hard.' 

"  Then  jVIr.  Tarbell  spoke  of  !Mr.  Claptrap  ;  a  man 
whom  I  know  about  well,  and  who  passes  for  rather 
a  rude,  unrefined  person,  in  the  circle  to  which  I  am 
accustomed.  ^Ir.  Tarbell,  however,  appeared  to  hold 
him  in  high  appreciation ;  expressing  himself  in  these 
pithy  terms  :  '  He's  a  good  one,  though,  I  swan  !  there 
don't  no  one  go.  to  sleep  while  he's  a  preachin'.  Of 
all  the  young  fellers  that's  been  to  Slocumville,  he's 
took  the  rag.'  So  Mr.  Tarbell  beguiled  the  time,  until 
the  hour  for  service.  As  the  bell  bes^an  to  rine:,  he 
called  Nap,  and  withdrew,  saying,  *  He'd  been  to  work 
kind  o'  hard,  and  guessed  he'd  go  and  snooze  awhile.' 


148  TiiE  Thinking  bayonet. 

O  Lou  !  I  did  suffer.  He  is  sordid,  but  I  think  meant 
well  enough,  and  wanted  to  entertain  me  agreeably; 
but  what  had  we  in  common  ! 

"I -went  to  church  oppressed  and  desperate.  I 
avoided  the  errors  of  the  unfortunate  IVIr.  Jones.  Mr. 
Tarbell,  by  the  way,  had  said,  at  the  end  of  his  remarks, 
that  '  he  wa'n't  no  great  shakes  ; '  an  estimate  which  I 
felt  inwardly  sure  he  would-  pass  upon  me,  when  he 
was  reciting  my  experiences  to  some  future  guest.  I 
entered  duly  at  the  door,  passed  fiercely  by  Sam  Trull, 
who  sat  there,  all  ready  to  repeat  his  kindness  if  neces- 
sary. I  climbed  the  stairs ;  and  when  I  rose,  although 
the  block  was  miserably  narrow,  I  balanced  myself 
with  care.  I  did  not  dare  to  look  into  the  faces  of  the 
congi-egation,  imagining  it  was  Mr.  Tarbell  repeated  in 
every  pew. 

"  I  got  through  the  day ;  but  it  was  hard.  I  have 
studied  faithfully  nearly  eight  years,  perhaps  too  faith- 
fully ;  for  it  certainly  seems  as  if  I  had  done  little  in 
the  way  of  preparing  myself  to  meet  the  world,  if  this 
is  the  world.  I  have  written  essays,  that  scholars  and 
men  of  taste  commend,  and  tried  to  be  helpful  to  the 
poor  and  ignorant.  I  have  such  a  high  ideal  of  my 
profession  ;  have  dreamed  so  of  Chrysostom,  the  golden- 
mouthed  ;  of  Burnet,  and  his  audience  spontaneously 
bursting  into  admiration ;  of  Bossuet  and  Whitefield. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  think  I  can  approach  these,  —  or 
even  lights  far  less  than  these,  —  yet  these  I  have 
thought  of  as  ideals  ;  and  this  was  the  actual !  In  the 
midst  of   the  best   passage   of   my  morning   sermon. 


THE    CANDIDATE.  149 

the  organ  boy  tipped  over  his  stool ;  and  I  knew  by  the 
rustle,  that  every  head  went  round. 

"  I  hardly  know  how  I  came  to  select  my  afternoon 
sermon  as  I  did.  It  was  something  which  I  had  pre- 
pared for  the  audience  at  the  mission-chapel ;  in  which 
I  had  tried  to  be  very  plain  and  simple,  choosing  such 
language  and  illustrations  as  very  plain  people  would 
understand.  It  is  a  sermon  I  think  very  little  of. 
After  church,  a  pleasant-faced  gentleman  spoke  to  me 
in  the  porch,  and  invited  me  home  to  tea.  He  intro- 
duced me  to  his  wife,  —  a  refined  lady;  and  we  drove 
together  to  his  cottage,  which  stands  near  the  old  vil- 
lage, at  some  distance  from  Slocumville.  These  people 
were  very  pleasant ;  though,  I  own,  I  can  hardly  un- 
derstand how  it  is,  that  a  man  of  so  much  intelligence 
as  this  Mr.  Harwood  seemed  to  be  could  pass  the  judg- 
ment he  did  upon  my  discourses.  He*  spoke  of  my 
afternoon  sermon  with  very  cordial  approval,  as  inter- 
esting, and  likely  to  do  good.  Of  the  morning  sermon 
he  said  nothing ;  and  I  construed  his  silence  to  mean 
that  it  hardly  pleased  him.  I  am  surprised ;  for  that 
cost  me  double  the  labor.  Though  I  say  it  myself,  it 
had  considerable  rare  learning  in  it,  and,  I  flatter  my- 
self, showed  some  metaphysical  ability.  Mr.  Harwood 
said  nothing  about  this,  although  I  set  him  down  as  a 
very  intelligent  man. 

"  I  should  have  enjoyed  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harwood  more, 
if  I  had  been  well ;  but  my  head  ached  severely,  and  I 
was  forced  to  ask  Mr.  Harwood  to  drive  me  to  jMr. 
Tarbell's,  very  soon  after  tea.     He  did  not  express  any 


150  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

commiseration  ;•  but  I  thought  I  could  judge  from  his 
kind  manner,  that  he  appreciated  the  trial  I  had  gone 
through  in  the  candidating.  I  felt  full  of  gratitude  to 
him  when  he  left  me  ;  for  he  put  out  his  hand,  and  told 
me  to  keep  up  good  courage ;  that  I  would  come  out 
right  in  the  end. 

"  During  the  evening,  I  became  fairly  ill.  ]\Irs. 
Tarbell,  I  am  bound  to  say,  nursed  me  like  a  mother. 
Sage-tea  was  provided  by  the  pint ;  and  bottles  innu- 
merable, filled  with  hot  water,  were  put  to  bed  with 
me,  until,  in  my  heat  and  perspiration,  I  almost  ex- 
pected to  sing  like  a  tea-kettle. 

"In  the  morning,  on  my  departure,  'Malviny'was 
ready  at  the  door  with  a  bouquet.  This  she  gave  me 
with  a  smile,  whose  revelations  were  so  dismal,  that  I 
precipitately  buried  my  face  to  the  eyes  among  the 
flowers.  So  very  plain !  and  yet  there  is  nobleness 
about  her  !  Mr.  Tarbell  carried  my  carpet-bag  to  the 
depot ;  asked  me  to  visit  them  again ;  then  gave  me  my 
pay  with  a  munificent  air,  as  if  it  were  charity,  and  not 
something  fairly  earned.  'If  there  ain't  Slocum  him- 
self! '  said  he,  as  a  large,  rough-faced  man  came  down 
the  street.  'Now,  he  don't  go  to  church,  and  don't 
pay  much,'  continued  ]Mr.  Tarbell ;  '  but  our  folks  want 
to  be  perlite  to  him,  and  fetch  him  round.  He  oughter 
give  a  good  tax.  Couldn't  you  kind  o'  be  agreeable  on 
the  way  dowTi?'  As  the  magnate  came  up,  I  was  in- 
troduced with  much  ceremony  ;  ]Mr.  Tarbell  taking  care 
to  emphasize  the  'reverend'  before  my  name,  for  fear, 
I  suspected,  that  Mr.  Slocum  would  begin  to  swear, 
unless  he  received  a  hint. 


THE    CANDIDATE.  151 

"  We  took  our  seats  together  in  the  car ;  he  taking 
up  about  two-thirds  of  the  seat  with  his  teavy,  burly 
frame  :  but  there  was  room  enough  for  me.  It  was 
some  few  minutes  before  the  train  left,  and  unspeakably 
awkward  when  Slocum,  with,  a  *  haw  !  haw  ! '  and  in  a 
voice  audible  everywhere,  remarked,  'Well,  had  a  good 
preach  ? '  I  had  hardly  replied  suitably,  as  I  thought, 
ti  this,  when  this  other  inquiry  was  abruptly  launched : 
Ain't  your  doctrine  rather  goln'  down?'  I  know  I 
was  pale  in  my  despair.  The  whole  car-full  hung  upon 
the  words  of  the  maoTiate  ;  and  I  lonored  to  sink  throuo^h 
upon  the  track  below,  and  run  nay  risk  of  getting  out 
from  under  the  wheels  as  the  train  moved  off.  I  sum- 
moned all  my  courage ;  but  I  know  it  was  with  the 
feeblest  flicker  of  a  smile  that  I  said,  that  *  it  went  down 
remarkably  well  with  some  people.'  Slocum  then  said 
there  was  talk  of  'puttin'  up  a  new  gospel-shop,  but  he 
thought  one  ought  to  do.  *Why,'  said  he,  *I  never 
went  but  once  to  this  one  !  That  was  in  the  afternoon. 
There  was  a  mighty  sparse  sprinklin'  of  folks.  Fact, 
the  congregation  that  time  looked  hke  a  rat's  tail  in  a 
quart-pot ! '  Here  the  train  went  forward  to  my  great 
relief.  Soon  after,  the  great  Mr"  Slocum  went  to  talk 
with  a  brother  manufacturer  upon  some  question  of 
welts  and  shoemakers'  wax. 

"Do  you  not  pity  me?  Yet  do  not  think,  for  a 
moment,  that  I  believe  the  faiJt  to  be  anywhere  but  in 
myself;  at  any  rate,  in  great  part.  Mr.  Tarbell,  no 
doubt,  has  his  merits.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  meet  him 
properly ;  and  I  know  it  is  over-sensitiveness,  in  great 


152  THE    THINKDsG   BAYONET. 

part,  that  makes  me  shrink  from  him.  Even  Slocum, 
probably,  has  something  to  like  in  him.  But  these 
men  of  the  world  I  know  almost  nothing  about.  In 
our  seclusion,  I  have  grown  more  and  more  delicate, 
until  such  a  rough  touch  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  world 
as  I  have  just  had  has  almost  thrown  me  into  fever. 

"As  I  write,  I  hear  steps,  and  Mr.  Tarbell's  voice, 
in  the  hall :  *  Yes,  sir!  we  shall  do  a  right  straight-out 
good  thing  to  get  him.'  It  is  a  committee  of  the  Slo- 
cumville  Parish  sent  up  to  wait  upon  Claptrap,  and 
give  him  a  call  to  settle.  I  do  not  think  he  can  have 
had  Mr.  Harwood's  vote. 

"I  resume  my  pen  now,  after  an  interview  with 
Mr.  Tarbell.  Claptrap,  it  seems,  holds  the  matter  in 
consideration  ;  and,  meantime,  Mr.  Tarbell  and  his  asso- 
ciates would  hke  to  have  me  come  next  Sunday  to  sup- 
ply:  *Xothin'  serious,  you  know;  only  just  to  amuse 
us.'  Well,  I  shall  go,  and  face  it.  I  shall  -vvi'ite  two 
new  sermons  on  purpose,  and  try  to  have  them  of  the 
kind  that  Mr.  Harwood  approved,  though  my  judgment 
suggests  something  different.  I  shall  carry  up  some 
suitable  gift  to  ]Mrs.  Tarbell.  I  hope  I  am  being  dis- 
ciplined into  such  shape  that  I  shall  be  useful.  Well 
says  old  Henry  Yaughan,  — 

*  Thus  doth  God  key  disordered  man. 
Which  none  else  can, 
Tuning  his  brest  to  rise  or  fall ; 
And,  by  a  sacred,  needfull  art, 
Like  strings  stretch  every  part, 
Making  the  whole  most  musicall.'  " 


THE   OLD   WOUND.  1^3 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE     OLD    WOUND. 


Months  go  by, —for  Herbert,  months  of  strife  and 
hard  marching.  The  fortune  of  war  carries  his  regi- 
ment hither  and  thither.  Fully  restored  from  his 
wound,  the  rough,  out-of-door  life  only  confirms  his 
vio-or.  The  active  service  gives  an  abundance  of  ad- 
venture. The  military  enterprises  in  which  the  regi- 
ment takes  part  meet  with  a  fair  measure  of  success. 
Herbert  finds  something  to  enjoy  in  the  excitement  of 
the  life,  in  spite  of  the  hardships,  and  feels  that  he  has 
a  share  in  accomphshing  good.  He  is  too  conscious 
of  his  power  not  to  be  restless  in  his  subordinate  posi- 
tion, too  refined  to  be  congenially  placed  among  the 
rude  men  into  whose  society  he  is  often  forced ;  but  he 
has  resolution  enough,  for  the  time,  to  make  hght  of 
such  things.  Although,  in  great  part,  his  comrades 
are  rough,  Herbert  finds  in  the  ranks  at  his  side  num- 
bers of  men  of  fine  sense  and  admirable  intelligence,  — 
some  even  of  refinement. 

Why  is  not  Herbert  promoted?  We  see  that  he  has 
attracted  attention  by  his  soldierly  bearing,  and  won 
the  regard  of  officers  :   yet  he  does  not  get  forward ; 


154  THE   THINKIXG   BAYONET. 

and  this  is  the  iipison  :  He  has  come  to  have  the  name 
of  being  insubordinate,  and  in  this  way.  Generally- 
mild  and  genial  the  sergeant  is  ;  but  this  narrative  gives 
poor  account  of  him,  if  it  leads  you  to  infer  that  there 
was  in  him  no  fire  upon  occasion. 

There  is  an  amazing  want  of  fortitude  among  part 
of  the  men.  What  was  expected  when  they  enlisted, 
it  is  hard  to  tell ;  but,  too  commonly  in  the  regiment,  it 
is  a  long-continued,  ceaseless  grumble  against  the  food, 
the  officers,  the  duty.  Certainly  there  are  things  which 
are  hard  to  bear.  There  is  much  ill-health,  and,  any 
day,  there  is  the  liability  of  being  ordered  again  under 
fire ;  but  many,  instead  of  making  the  best,  make  the 
worst  of  it. 

Ih  the  tent  of  the  sergeants,  one  evening,  sits  a 
party  grumbling  over  their  hardships  ;  unusually  de- 
pressed, through  bad  news  just  received  from  a  much- 
talked -of  expedition,  which  has  ended  in  disaster; 
wishing  they  were  at  home  ;  betraying  the  most  selfish 
disposition  to  consult  their  own  comfort.  In  this  talk, 
the  pitiful  first-lieutenant,  who  is  passing  near,  stops 
to  join.  Herbert  sits  cleaning  his  piece.  He  has  re- 
moved the  bands,  and  taken  the  barrel  from  its  bed. 
Suddenly  he  dashes  fiercely  down  the  iron  and  the  im- 
plement, and  springs  to  his  feet,  every  feature  glowing, 
the  loose  planks  with  which  the  tent  is  floored  cracking 
beneath  the  indignant  stamp  of  the  powerful  man : 
"  Miserable  weakness  !  "  he  cries  :  "  and  what  are  you 
to  foster  this  spirit  of  discontent  and  wretched  cowardice 
among  those  whom  you  command  ?  "     Under  the  fiery 


THE   OLD   WOUND.  155 

glow  upon  his  strong  face,  and  the  deep  wrath  that 
burns  in  his  powerful  tones,  the  group  is  cowed  and 
silent.  Two  or  three  of  the  better  ones  among  them 
catch  his  fervor.  "  Where  should  we  have  been  with- 
out the  sergeant ?"  says  one.  "Yes,"  says  another; 
"  and  if  we  only  had  you  to  lead  us  !  "  The  lieutenant 
goes  away  to  report  Herbert  as  mutinous  and  danger- 
ous. EUs  prospects  for  promotion  are  destroyed,  and 
he  is  only  saved  from  punishment  by  the  essential 
service  which  he  has  rendered. 

As  we  have  seen,  Herbert  has  come  into  contact 
with  one  personage  whom  he  had  known  before  his 
flight.  The  morning  of  the  rebel  assault,  suddenly  he 
had  encountered  Holyoake  ;  and  at  length  it  has  so 
happened  that  the  Lowell  Regiment  becomes  attached 
to  the  brigade  that  the  rising  young  officer  now  com- 
mands. Herbert  can  look  upon  his  face,  and  not  be 
moved  from  equanimity ;  but  there  is  another  meeting 
for  him,  the  ^ect  of  which  is  to  stir  his  soul  in  the 
profoundest  deeps. 

A  finely-officered  veteran  regiment  has  come  out  in 
the  afternoon  for  battalion-drill.  In  upon  the  parade 
they  come  bravely  marching,  the  band  at  the  head. 
The  men  are  dark,  through  exposure  to  sun,  in  face 
and  hands  ;  but  the  muskets  glitter,  the  thousand  of 
them,  as  if  they  were  fresh  from  the  arsenal.  This 
regiment  knows  what  it  is  to  be  decimated ;  to  march 
many  leagues  ;  to  lie  in  rifle-pits,  when  all  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  fade,  and  fade ;  with  not  a  solitary 
drum  to  sound  a  call;    with  the  colors  tattered  and 


156  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

drenched  under  rain  ;  feather  and  tinsel  all  thrown  aside 
for  terribly  stern  grappling  with  bloodiest  death.  But 
to-day  all  is  bright.  Ranks  are  recruited  to  the  full 
number.  New  battle -flags  are  in  the  hands  of  the 
color -guard ;  the  musicians,  dropping  the  stretcher- 
handle,  resume  the  horn  and  bugle.  Rapidly  they 
form  in  their  line  of  battle ;  their  brown,  stern-faced 
colonel  galloping  upon  his  stallion  from  wing  to  wing. 
A  sonorous  order,  and  all- is  motion.  On  the  run,  but 
with  the  even  line  preserved,  they  wheel  in  sweeping 
blue  radii ;  they  concentrate  into  squares  ;  then  roll  out 
again  into  solid  column.  Meantime,  for  a  soul  to  the 
whole,  the  full  band  at  the  edge  of  the  ground  is  peal- 
ing out  its  quick,  inspiriting  sound.  ,  Over  all  thrills 
the  shout  of  the  colonel ;  then  the  call  of  the  captains ; 
then  the  tumult  of  the  foot-beats  of  the  thousand  men, 
and  the  clash  of  their  arms  :  combining  to  dissolve, 
assembling  to  separate ;  now  a  long  array,  now  com- 
pact order.  Upon  the  hill  above  the  paiade  is  gathered 
a  crowd  of  spectators,  beneath  whose  eyes  the  regiment 
gleams  and  changes,  from  formation  to  formation,  like 
the  pieces  in  a  great  kaleidoscope,  with  rattle  and  clash, 
and  yet  with  perfect  regularity ;  falling  into  new,  and 
again  new  combinations. 

Herbert  looks  at  the  drill  from  the  hill,  and  feels  the 
excitement  from  the  splendid  rush  and  glitter,  and  from 
the  pealing  of  the  instruments.  Hoof-beats  sound  near 
at  hand.  He  turns  ;  and  lo  !  Holyoake,  now  a  general, 
through  brave  conduct,  trots  up  the  sand,  with  a  lady  in 
his  company.     The  lady  is  veiled,  mounted  on  a  spir- 


THE    OLD   WOUND.  157 

ited  horse,  which  she  manages  with  grace.  Once  or 
twice,  too,  upon  the  flank  of  the  animal,  as  it  shows 
restiveness,  prompt  and  firm  the  gloved  hand  brings 
down  the  whip,  —  a  fearless,  confident  horsewoman. 
As  they  go  past,  the  wind  blows  out  the  skirt  of  the 
habit,  and  lifts  the  veil  from  before  her  face.  Pale 
cheeks  ;  earnest  eyes  ;  a  broad  brow  ;  dark,  thick,  clus- 
tering hair,  —  at  sight  of  which,  Herbert  shrinks  to  one 
side,  and  averts  his  face  ;  then  seats  himself  in  the  sand, 
as  they  pass  on,  with  his  head  in  his  hand.  "I  know 
her,"  says  a  Maine  soldier  near,  so  far  well  of  a  wound 
as  to  be  out  at  the  drill :  "the  nurse  in  our  ward, — and 
a  good,  smart  one ;  clear  stuflf  right  through ;  nary 
knot  or  crack !  She  keeps  too  close.  I'm  glad  she's 
out  awhile  for  the  air." 

Face  to  face  with  her !  he  full  of  generous,  manly 
love  that  will  not  die ;  for,  as  he  looks  upon  her  face, 
the  fountains  he  had  sought  to  seal  within  him  deluge 
his  heart  with  a  hot  flood,  till  it  is  nigh  to  burst. 
"  Fool !  fool  that  I  am  !  "  mutters  Herbert  to  himself. 
"So  hopeless!  Work,  work!  give  me  something  to 
fill  my  thoughts.  It  must  not  be."  Toward  dusk  the 
camp  is  reached.  The  company -cook  comes  out  to 
meet  him.  "The  boys,  sergeant,  growl  at  the  cook- 
ing ;  and  there's  need  of  convayniences."  Herbert 
hurries  together  half  a  dozen  men,  who  wonder  at  his 
impetuosity,  and  sets  to  work  with  mud,  and  bricks 
from  a  destroyed  building,  to  repair  the  cook's  arrange- 
ments. In  an  old  wheelbarrow,  he  himself  carries 
material ;  tten,  in  an  empty  box,  brings  mud,  like  a 


158  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

hodman,  or  an  enslaved  Israelite  under  Cheops  and 
Rameses,  setting  up  sphinxes  by  the  Nile.  He  is  fierce 
almost  in  his  eagerness.  "Kill  it!  kill  it ! "  he  mut- 
ters. "  Any  thing  to  crush  it  out !  Why  is  it,  my 
God,  that  I  must  sufFeV  so?"  So  he  struggles  and 
prays,  until  he  grows  pale  with  exhaustion ;  then 
thanks  God  as  his  eyes  close  in  sleep. 

Herbert  Lee  to  Putnam  May. 

"A  soldier  of  our  regiment,  discharged  from  sick- 
ness, is  going  home.  I  have  rendered  him  some  ser- 
vice ;  and  he  is  willing  to  take  a  letter  for  me  to  some 
northern  city,  and  there  mail  it.  So  I  can  write  to  you 
again,  and  still  give  no  clue.  And  yet  I  hardly 
know  why  I  care  so  much  that  you  should  not  know 
where  I  am.  Perhaps  I  have  been  hiding  so  long,  that 
the  habit  has  gi'own  upon  me.  I  Avould  love  to  see 
you,  or  hear  from  you  ;  and  yet  what  good  would  it  do 
to  you  or  to  me?  If  it  would  help  me  to  be  more 
manly  in  my  life,  you  should  know  at  once  :  but  I  do 
not  see  that  it  will ;  and  I  might  hear  what  will  perplex 
and  harass  me.  I  try  now  to  do  good.  I  try  to  enjoy 
this  present  companionship,  and  endure  it  well  when 
my  vigor  is  firm.  '  So  long  as  a  man  is  good-natured 
and  well-meaning,  why  make  account  of  his  rough- 
ness ? '  I  say  :  and  there  is  no  need  to  make  account  of 
it,  and  I  do  not,  when  I  am  well ;  but  privation  some- 
what lowers  the  physical  tone.  It  must  be  that  that 
often  makes  me  pine  and  thirst  for  what  I  have  once 


THE    OLD   WOUND.  159 

kno>vn  :  cultivated  friends  ;  the  voices  of  ladies  ;  books ; 
refinements. 

"Ah,  well !  let  me  tell  it  all.  I  did  not  mean  to  at 
first ;  but  perhaps  it  will  ease  me  to  confess  to  you. 
You  see,  from  the  few  words  that  I  have  written,  that 
I  am  not  happy.  Yet,  Putnam,  I  was  trying  to  hide 
my  misery  in  writing  that.  It  would  come  through 
some,  you  see,  into  the  words.  Oh !  I  am  wretched 
beyond  words.  Here  it  is  ;  all,  all.  An  old  wound  is 
bleeding  that  I  thought  I  had  cauterized  with  bitter  fire  ; 
but  it  is  freshly  opened  ;  how,  I  do  not  care  to  tell. 
Agony,  that,  under  different  circumstances,  might  be 
such  sweetness  !  O  my  queen  !  glory  of  womanhood, 
steadfast  and  great  and  calm  Leonora !  There  !  no 
more.  You  know  it.  It  is  folly  to  be  thus  wretched. 
I  think  of  past  heroism  and  sainthood ;  after  which,  I 
sometimes  hope  to  follow,  feebly  and  far  away ;  but 
I  know  of  no  precedent  for  such  breaking-down  as  this 
into  foolish  misery.  I  am  unworthy  of  the  faith  and 
purpose  that  have  been  given  to  me.  Life,  — in  which 
I  hoped  to  do  so  much,  —  now,  O  friend,  is  so  utterly, 
utterly  a  burden  !  We  go  here  with  our  lives  in  our 
hands ;  and  blessed  to  me  would  be  the  hostile  bullet 
that  should  take  away  my  weak,  irresolute  soul.  But 
this  is  not  right  or  honorable,  and  you  shall  hear  no 
more  of  it.  I  believe  it, has  done  me  good  to  write  it. 
I  will  write  on  to  occupy  my  mind  now,  trying  to  feel 
as  if  the  suffering  were  not. 

"  I  have  fought  and  fought ;  and  I  am  almost  shaken 
in  my  opi'hions  as  to  the  justice  of  war,  under  any  cir- 


160  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

cumstances,  by  what  I  have  seen.  The  battle-field  is 
so  terrible  !  —  dreadful  at  the  time,  so  ghastly  at  the 
end  !  Once,  after  a  battle,  I  had  gone  back  upon  the 
field.  I  saw  two  of  our  men,  each  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  burying  the  dead.  They  took  one,  a  rebel,  with 
whom,  indeed,  they  had  fought  the  evening  before.  One 
at  the  head,  the  other  at  the  feet,  they  carried  him  to 
the  trench.  They  tried  to  pilfer  his  watch  and  money ; 
but  I  saw  their  purpose,  and  thwarted  them.  But  they 
laughed,  and  insulted  the  corse  they  bore  as  so  much 
carrion.  Do  you  remember  when  we  read  Plato's 
"  Republic  "  together  ?  One  passage  we  noted  as  being 
generous,  —  and  it  rose  then  into  my  mind, — where 
it  says,  you  know,  that  it  is  'mean  and  forbidden  to 
plunder  a  corse,  and  the  mark  of  a  weak,  small  mind 
to  deem  the  body  of  the  deceased  an  enemy.'  These 
men  seem  so  mean  and  low ! 

"  Once,  on  a  march,  I  was  one  of  the  guard  in  the 
rear,  whose  duty  it  was  to  arrest  stragglers.  You 
must  know,  that  always,  if  the  roads  are  at  all  heavy, 
and  the  sun  hot,  men  leave  their  regiments  by  dozens ; 
some  really  overcome, — too  much  exhausted  to  go 
farther  ;  others  only  feigning  exhaustion,  thinking,  that, 
by  loitering,  they  may  find  opportunities  for  plunder. 
I  marched  with  the  guard,  some  distance  in  the  rear, 
along  the  trampled  road.  We  came  to  a  house,  —  a 
poor,  mean  dwelling ;  the  shelter  of  poverty.  In 
front,  there  had  been  a  skirmish.  Three  rebel  dead  lay 
unburied,  in  the  hot  sun,  gory  and  distorted.  O 
Putnam  !  do  you  make  it  real  to  yourself  what  gore  is  ? 


THE    OLD   WOUND.  161 

a  familiar  word  enough,  but  such  a  dreadful  sight  in 

reality;    that  clotted,    gelatinous  purple,   oozing   from 
mortal  wounds  ! 

"On  the  piazza  about  the  poor  house,  sat  the  in- 
mates, —  a  bowed  old  man,  amid  a  group  of  squalid 
children;  bare-footed,  bare-headed,  anxious,  weeping. 
He  was  the  grandparent.  The  father  was  in  the  rebel 
army  somewhere  ;  the  mother  sat  rocking  with  an  infant 
in  her  arms,  thin  and  sickly.  The  house  and  the  yard 
were  full  of  straggling  soldiers.  The  garden  had  been 
rifled  of  every  vegetable  w^hich  could  be  eaten,  and 
what  was  left  was  trampled  down.  The  cow  in  the 
wretched  shed  had  been  shot,  a  little  meat  cut  from 
the  carcass,  and  the  rest  left  to  waste.  The  guns  of 
the  men  were  cracking  about  the  yard,  and  every  fowl 
was  being  killed.  A  number  of  men  were  coming  out 
of  the  door  with  haversacks  full  of  meal.  The  whole 
substance  of  these  poor  people  w^as  being  devoured. 
As  I  came  up,  a  drunken  soldier  —  of  our  army,  Put- 
nam —  had  just  torn  the  brooch  away  which  the  woman 
with  the  child  in  her  arms  wore  at  her  neck,  —  a  cheap 
thing,  which,  how^ever,  had  attracted  his  drunken  greed  ; 
and  (I  can  hardly  bear  to  write  the  terribly  ruffianly 
thing)  he  w^as  •  rudely  taking  from  one  of  her  ears  the 
ear-ring,  making  the  blood  flow  in  his  heedless  brutality. 
I  rushed  upon  him,  and  saved  her  further  pain  ;  and, 
the  officer  in  command  of  the  guard  being  close  at 
hand,  we  had  the  fellow  arrested.  We  tried  to  restore 
order  :  but,  while  we  were  there,  flames  burst  out  from 
the  barn,  which  sj)eedily  caught  the  house  ;    and  the 


162  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

guard  passed  on,  leaving  the  old  man,  the  woman,  and 
the  company  of  little  children,  shelterless  and  foodless, 
looking  in  tears  uj^on  their  blazing  home.  My  heart 
bled  for  them  so  !  Yet  I  could  do  nothing.  We  were 
pursuing  the  enemy.     Duty  forced  me  forward. 

"  On  another  day,  I  was  engaged  in  similar  duty. 
The  guard  came  to  a  solitary  church,  standing  in  the 
midst  of  a  burial-ground.  It  was  a  sweet  and  solemn 
spot.  Trees  —  some  of  them  familiar,  some  of  strange 
tropical  form  and  foliage  —  grew  about  it.  In  front 
was  a  grove  of  pines,  whispering  as  if  with  oracular 
breathings ;  behind,  a  clump  of  live-oaks,  with  small 
glossy  leaves  set  in  dense  clusters  upon  the  far-reaching 
branches.  Over  some  of  the  trees  crept  vines,  making 
their  srreen  still  more  thick  and  o;raceful.  Still  farther 
behind,  in  the  still  burial-ground,  were  trunks  and 
branches,  hung  with  the  funereal  gray  moss,  which 
swayed  slowly  back  and  forth  like  coffin-plumes.  I 
stt>od  in  the  porch  of  the  little  church,  and  saw  how  the 
door  had  been  wrenched  from  its  hinges,  and  lay  broken 
on  the  ground.  The  pews  were  split  and  torn  down. 
In  the  chancel,  rail,  desk,  and  pulpit  were  scored  and 
dinted,  and  the  walls  scrawled  with  soldiers'  names. 
Doors  and  windows,  flung  rudely  open,  gave  free  ingress 
into  the  violated  shrine  to  rain  and  winds.  The  army 
had  gone  forward ;  but  I  went  round  the  building,  in 
discharge  of  my  duty,  to  see  if  any  straggler  might  be 
lurking  there.  T'he  church  was  somewhat  venerable, 
and  not  ungraceful  in  its  architecture. 

"Passing  among  tlie  graves,  I  saw  that  it  had  been 


THE    OLD   WOUXD.  163 

the  burial-place  of  families  of  wealth  and  consequence. 
Some  lots  were  elegantly  inclosed,  and  contained  taste- 
ful and  costly  monuments.  One  stone  bore,  '  God 
be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner !' for  a  motto.  Another 
had  a  verse  from  a  touching  poem.  The  inscriptions 
were  mostly  simple,  humble,  appropriate ;  indicating 
refinement  and  piety  in  those  who  had  erected  the 
stones.  Some  inclosures  were  moss-grown;  having 
stood,  evidently,  for  many  years.  The  vines,  the  cac- 
tus, and  prickly  pear,  grew  thick  within  them.  Here 
were  the  stones  of  grandfathers,  placed  a  half-century 
ago ;  and,  by  the  side  of  them,  white  tablets  to  their 
grandchildren,  babies  dead  within  the  year. 

"  On  one  side,  at  length,  I  saw  a  very  handsome  and 
costly  sepulchre,  with  the  name  of  the  family  by  which 
it  had  been  erected  cut  in  deep  relief  upon  it.  It  was 
built  of  stone,  brought,  evidently,  a  long  distance ; 
elegantly  inclosed  ;  the  massive  blocks  carved  with  in- 
verted torches  and  other  appropriate  funereal  emblems. 
'  Integrity  and  uprightness '  was  the  legend  cut  in  deep 
relief  above  the  door.  It  was  plainly  the  mausoleum 
of  an  ancient  and  honorable  house. 

"  It  was  sad  indeed  to  see  how  the  butts  of  Northern 
muskets  had  dashed  in  the  marble  doors,  and  shocked 
the  solemn  interior  repose  with  impious  violation.  I 
bent  over  the  threshold,  and  looked  in  through  the 
broken  portal.  There  lay,  in  their  niches,  the  burial- 
cases  of  adults  and  children  ;  the  wreaths  which  the 
bereaved  had  left  there  at  the  funerals  still  lying  over 
the  lids  ! 


164  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

"  Do  not  think  that  the  terrible  ruffianism  that  these 
things  indicate  is  universal,  or  indeed  general,  in  our 
armies.  There  are  some,  who,  away  from  restraint, 
and  often  in  drunkenness,  do  these  things ;  the  worst 
among  our  roughs  and  rascals.  You  would  hardly 
believe  they  can  be  men ;  and  yet,  too,  they  have  a 
bright  and  human  side  to  them,  when  they  are  them- 
selves, as  I  have  sometimes  been  surprised  to  ob- 
serve. As  an  offset  to  this  class,  I  know  numbers 
here  at  my  side,  undistinguished  by  any  badge,  of 
fine  sense,  with  many  grand  qualities  and  much  intelli- 
gence ;  freemen  of  the  class  who  give  to  our  land  its 
character. 

"  You  will  say  all  this  is  terrible ;  and  yet  these 
things  are  happening  everywhere,  where  war  comes. 
They  almost  unman  me,  —  shake  me  in  the  belief  I 
have  felt  that  war  is  sometimes  just.  It  is  the  cause, 
the  cause  alone,  that  justifies  it.  This  dreadful  thing 
of  war  I  hope  solemnly  is  to  last  at  furthest  but  a  few 
years.  Then  it  will  be  past,  and  the  evils  we  are 
battling  will  have  passed  with  it,  I  solemnly  trust ; 
evils  which,  if  not  thus  met,  would  cause,  through  long 
decades,  —  through  centuries  probably,  —  an  amount 
of  suffering  and  sin  enormously  greater  in  the  aggre- 
gate than  all  that  follows  in  the  train  of  war  now. 
We  do  not  do  evil,  that  good  may  come.  We  do  the 
less  evil, — bring  this  bloody  strife,  with  its  attendant 
horrors,  upon  the  land,  —  as  the  only  way  to  avoid 
doing  the  greater  evil,  suffering  a  dreadful  power  to 
triumph. 


THE    OLD   WOUND.  165 

"As  I  left  the  old  man,  the  haggard  mother,  the 
frightened  little  ones,  behind  me  there,  in  the  instance 
I  have  just  related,  mj  heart  was  hot  with  pity,  with 
rage,  with  grief.  '  What  can  extenuate  it?'  I  thought. 
Then,  as  I  became  calmer,  this  passage  came  into  my 
mind,  which  I  fell  upon  somewhere  years  ago,  and 
learned  by  heart. 

"  You  know  my  memory  is  retentive ;  yet  I  forget 
whether  these  are  words  of  Milton  himself,  or  words 
which  some  one  has  put  into  his  mouth.  It  seems  to 
me  they  are  wise  enough  to  be  ]\Iilton's  own.  With 
scarcely  a  change,  I  apply  them  now :  — 

"^For  civil  war,  that  it  is  an  evil,  I  dispute  not; 
but  that  it  is  the  greatest  of  evils,  I  stoutly  deny.  It 
doth  indeed  appear  to  the  misjudging  to  be  a  worse 
calamity  than  slavery ;  because  its  miseries  are  collected 
together  within  a  short  space  and  time,  and  may  easily, 
at  one  view,  be  taken  in  and  perceived.  But  the  mis- 
fortunes of  nations  cursed  by  slavery,  being  distributed 
over  many  centm'ies  and  many  places,  as  they  are  of 
greater  weight  and  number,  so  are  they  of  less  display. 
When  the  devil  of  slavery  hath  gone  into  the  body 
politic,  he  departs  not  but  with  struggles  and  foaming, 
and  great  convulsions.  Shall  he,  therefore,  vex  it  for 
ever,  lest,  in  going  out,  he  may  for  a  moment  tear  and 
rend  it  ?  '  * 

"  Is  it  not  grand  wisdom  ?     I  am  carrying  that  sen- 

*  This  passage  which  Herbert  gives  is  Macaulay's.  It  is  put  into  the 
mouth  of  Milton  in  an  imaginar}'  conversation  betsveen  Cowley  and  Milton, 
to  be  found  in  the  "  Later  Essays  and  Poems." 


166  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

tence,  which  years  ago  I  learned  by  heart,  in  my  mind  ; 
and  it  is  the  staff  upon  which  I  go  forward  now,  in  my 
fighting.  Terrible  the  misfortune  and  suffering ;  but 
how  much  more  terrible  if  this  devil  of  slavery  had 
been  suffered  to  remain,  and  vex  us  !  though  indeed, 
the  woe,  in  that  case,  might  have  made  less  show  than 
that  of  the  war,  through  being  so  distributed. 

"  These  are  words  of  an  unhappy  man,  —  unhap- 
py, I  fear,  in  an  unmanly  way ;  but  let  me,  for  once, 
pour  myself  out.  So  lonely  as  I  am  to-night !  Once 
in  a  fortnight  comes  the  mail.  *What,  said  a  good- 
hearted  corporal,  the  other  day,  '  never  letters  for  you ; 
no  sweetheart  nor  any  one  to  send  you  a  word  !  Now 
we  chaps  grab  our  letters,  I  tell  you.  I  van  !  I  be- 
lieve there  is  a  kind  o'  mileage  about  them,  and  each 
letter  comes  in  here  like  a  Californy  Congressman,  — 
mighty  rich,  —  though  when  it  started,  praps  'twamt 
worth  nary  red.' 

"  What  a  mileage  the  poorest  scrap  you  could  send 
me  would  gain,  before  it  reached  me  !  But  would  it 
help  me  forward  ?  " 


MEADOWBOBO 


167 


CHAPTER  XI. 

M  E  A  D  O  W  B  O  E  O'. 

After  Herbert  Lee's  disappearance,  Mr.  Wells,  the 
minister  of  Meadowboro',  hearing  of  Putnam's  friend- 
ship and  active  interest  in  his  old  pupil,  sent  for 
him  to  make  him  a  visit.  Putnam  went,  and  it  was 
the  beginning  of  an  intimacy  between  the  two.  When 
Putnam  had  completed  his  regular  course,  he  resolved 
to  spend  a  few  months  in  Meadowboro',  that  he  might 
read  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Wells.  During  this 
time,  the  infirmities  of  the  latter  increased  so  rapidly, 
that  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  have  an  associate. 
His  own  preferences  were  strongly  for  Putnam  ;  and  the 
Meadowboro'  Parish,  after  duly  passing  judgment,  in- 
vited him  to  the  position.  Thither  he  went,  therefore, 
as  the  colleague  of  Mr.  Wells. 

At  this  time,  too,  he  became  married;  concerning 
which,  this  is  all  that  will  be  said.  Putnam  was  mar- 
ried and  settled ;  and  his  wife  is  that  Alice  Granger, 
who  was  at  Honomok  with  Leonora.  The  prelimina- 
ries were  gone  through  with  at  Honomok,  for  the  most 
part ;  and,  if  any  one  is  curious  in  the  matter,  he  is 
referred  to  old  Windy  Haines,  whose  red  eyes  were 
glaring  over  at  the  pair  from  his  opera-glass,  regularly, 


168  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

every  evening   of  the  wooing ;    and  who   is   probably 
familiar  with  every  particular  of  the  courtship. 

This  is  the  way  Putnam  writes  to  Lou,  just  after 
they  have  gone  to  housekeeping. 

Putnam  May  to  Louisa  May. 

"  This  flower-set  cottage,  in  which  Alice  and  I,  sweet 
wife,  are  laid  away !  Now  all  is  done.  We  have 
driven  home  the  last  carpet-tack.  The  vases,  even, 
stand  upon  the  mantel-piece,  —  each  with  its  flowers, 
—  and  every  picture  hangs  true  upon  the  wall.  Such 
an  eye  as  Alice  has  got !  It  is  as  good  as  a  spirit-level, 
to  ^  the  bottom  of  the  frame  exactly  with  the  horizon^ 
tal.  So,  now  that  all  is  done,  and  we  are  not  so  very 
tired,  Alice  is  playing  some  sweet  thing  from  Men- 
delssohn, while  I  come  here  to  dedicate  my  fresh,  new 
study,  by  seeing  how  I  can  write.  The  music  comes 
in  to  me  softly  through  the  closed  door,  as  I  love  to 
have  it.  I  do  not  listen  to  it.  As  I  write,  I  forget 
about  it ;  but  still  it  comes  in,  to  mould  the  feelings,  I 
believe.  So,  if  I  blossom  out  into  a  posy  here  and 
there,  think  it  is  my  poor  pen  trying  to  dress  up  her 
pretty  arpeggios  in  ink. 

"  I  am  certain,  that  I  know  what  is  the  prettiest  thing 
in  the  world,  —  a  half-blown  tea-rose,  in  a  plain,  small 
Parian  vase.  Alice  has  put  this  prettiest  thing  in  the 
world  just  before  my  eyes,  here  on  my  desk.  It  is  a 
little  translucent  urn  of  Parian  :  not  marred  by  any 
vain  embossment,  nor  wrought  over  with  any  painful 
counterfeit  of  twining  vines  and  leaves ;   but  perfectly 


169 

plain.  It  rises  so,  in  this  chaste,  unfretted  symmetry, 
only  some  three  or  four  inches.  Below,  it  is  a  slender 
stem,  that  midway  swells  into  pearly  fulness  ;  then, 
white  and  smooth  and  round,  it  tapers  up,  holding  at 
the  top  this  one  tea-rose,  half-blown.  It  is  pretty  as 
the  arm  of  some  young  fairy.  This  rose  did  not  grow 
in  our  garden.  It  is  one  of  the  house-plants.  They 
have  just  been  moved  here ;  and  what  should  come  out 
but  this  little  bud  at  once,  —  the  first  thing  born  in  our 
new  home  ?  The  hue  of  the  petals  is  exactly  what  we 
see  in  the  west  sometimes,  very  late  in  the  twilight , 
and  I  am  half- sure  those  sad,  sweet -throated  whip- 
poorwills,  that  we  hear  bemoaning  the  approach  of 
evening,  on  the  mountain,  would  wail  out  that  triple, 
melancholy  note  of  theirs,  if  they  could  catch  sight  of 
it,  —  it  is  such  a  perfect  match  to  that  twilight  hue  ! 

"  Of  course,  there  is  a  fly  in  my  pot  of  ointment. 
A  little  hard,  is  it  not,  that  my  poor  little  inheritance 
—  all  I  have,  you  know,  except  my  salary  —  should 
be  so  utterly  sunk !  But,  Lou,  no  picture  was  ever 
more  brilliant  than  that  painted  before  me  by  the  agent 
of  the  South  Goose -Creek  Coal -Mining  Company. 
Upon  the  banks  of  that  agreeable  stream,  the  company 
owned  a  wide  tract  of  territory,  their  fee  simple ;  as 
the  agent  expressed  it,  with  an  approach  to  sublimity, 
extending  ^  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  of  the  earth.' 
Shafts  had  been  sunk  in  a  profuse  manner,  into  beds  of 
the  richest  character,  which  lay  one  beneath  the  other. 
Such  wealth  as  was  sandwiched  there  among  the  strata 
by  South  Goose-Creek !     So  fairly  honey-combed  was 

8 


170  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  earth  above  it  and  around  it,  with  shafts,  adits,  pits, 
and  drifts,  by  which  it  was  to  be  brought  to  light,  to 
feed  by  the  multitude  the  forges  of  industry;  and, 
properly  transmuted,  to  make  heavy  the  pockets  of 
poor  me,  would  I  but  invest !  All  of  this  was  in  due 
form  set  forth  by  the  smiling  and  gentlemanly  agent. 
To  be  sure,  just  then,  operations  were  at  a  stand-still ; 
but  I  was  that  very  capitalist,  (just  think,  with  my  few 
hundreds  !)  whose  emetic  finger,  as  it  were,  inserted 
within  the  throat  of  the  mine,  would  forthwith  cause  it 
to  belch  up  its  most  hidden  deposits.  It  was  urged 
upon  me  to  be  wise  in  time.  The  streets -were  jammed 
with  an  excited  crowd ;  steamers  were  that  moment 
making  port ;  trains  thronged  were  whistling  into  the 
depots ;  and  all  these  were  large  capitalists,  with  their 
means  in  their  pockets,  hurrying  to  the  city  to  buy 
this  famous  stock.  Would  I  linger  ?  I  went  out  pre- 
sently, with  a  certificate  of  stock  to  the  entire  amount 
of  my  little  funds, — walking,  I  was  conscious,  with 
something  of  a  strut,  as  became  the  nabob  to  replenish 
whose  coffers  even  the  haunts  of  the  gnome  and  the 
kobold  were  invaded.  But  either  because  the  goblins 
at  South  Goose-Creek  are  a  swindling,  light-fingered 
race,  who  swallow  fortunes  into  their  caverns,  and  give 
no  return,  or  because  the  managers,  bold  in  their  con- 
sciousness of  owning  to  the  centre  of  the  earth,  ran 
shafts  so  deep  that  the  investments  dropped  through  to 
the  hidden  fires,  —  for  one  or  both  of  these,  or  for 
some  other  reason,  the  money  went,  and  gave  no  sign, 
while  I,  poor  victim,  droop  and  mourn. 


IIEADOWBORO'.  171 

"  Of  course,  you  will  want  to  know  something  about 
Mr.  Wells,  whose  colleague  I  am.  He  is  so  simple 
and  sincere  !  The  burying-ground  at  Meadowboro'  is 
upon  the  brow  of  a  terrace,  looking  down  upon  the 
meadow.  The  oldest  stone  is  mossy  and  leaning ;  the 
inscription  badly  blurred  by  the  clinging  lichens,  — 
*To  Mistress  Mindwell  Pumry,  who  was  captivated  by 
an  Indian  salvage,  and  by  ye  salvage  tragically  toma- 
hawked,' in  Eang  Philip's  war.  The  newest  stone  is 
small,  and  very  plain,  —  'Leonard  Wells,  aet.  four.' 
Now  here  is  the  story  of  this  little  fellow's  death  and 
burial,  that  will  show  the  pure  and  high  old  man  as 
he  is. 

"  Leonard,  or  Lenny,  was  his  only  grandchild.  He 
died  last  month,  leaving  the  poor  man  alone.  His 
wife  died  long  years  ago.  His  only  daughter  grew  to 
a  lovely  womanhood,  only  to  marry  ill,  and  be  deserted 
by  her  husband.  Shortly  after  this,  Lenny,  her  only 
child,  was  born ;  the  throes  of  the  mother's  travail 
being  at  the  same  time  her  death-pangs.  A  fair,  lov- 
ing boy  he  was  coming  to  be,  in  the  current  of  whose 
sweet  young  life,  as  it  flowed  freshly  on  in  the  parson- 
age, the  grandfather  bathed  his  soul,  and  grew  young, 
as  in  a  rill  from  some  fountain  of  youth.  Lenny  sick- 
ened and  died,  when  scarcely  four.  I  went  up  to  see 
the  old  man,  as  he  sat  alone  with  his  broken  heart 
in  the  still  chamber,  —  a  little  cold  heap  of  white  upon 
the  table  at  his  side,  —  cloth  and  napkin,  and  the  dead 
boy.  '  Gone  from  me  !'  he  broke  out ;  and  then,  with 
his  gray  head  upon  the  table,  he  poured  out  his  grief  in 


172  THE    TmXKING   BAYONET. 

the  words  of  David  above  the  coi'pse  of  Absalom, 
'  Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  my  child,  —  my 
child!' 

"  What  could  I  do  or  say  ?  Before  such  a  bereave- 
ment, I  felt  powerless.  Every  thing  I  tried  to  say 
seemed  cold,  and  almost  harsh  ;  and  I  could  only  take 
the  old  man's  hand,  to  clasp  and  bend  over  it.  Mr. 
Wells  grew  calmer,  as  I  sat  with  him.  *  At  least,  Mr. 
May,'  he  said,  sitting  upright,  and  becoming  collected, 
—  ^  at  least  his  burial  shall  be  worthy.  This  clay,  so 
sweet  to  me,  must  lie  in  a  casket  of  the  costliest ;  the 
little  shroud  must  be  of  the  choicest ;  the  memorial  in 
the  burying-ground  shall  be  rich  as  chisel  can  carve.  I 
must  have  it  so,  sir.  All  that  is  fine  and  delicate  must 
wrap  these  little  limbs.  Upon  the  small,  plaited 
shroud,  must  lie  rare  flowers,  —  softest  silk  under  this 
damp,  white  cheek.  Help  me  to  these,  Mr.  May.  Oh, 
it  is  little, — little  enough!  but,  through  these  poor  sym- 
bols, I  would  speak  the  precious  love  I  bore  the  child.' 
I  promised  to  give  my  help,  and  took  my  leave. 

"  It  so  happened  that  John  Burns,  a  poor  laborer  of 
the  parish,  had  also  lost  a  child  in  the  same  night  in 
which  Lenny  Wells  had  died.  I  went  from  the  par- 
sonaoe  to  Burns's  house,  and  found  there  as  much  orrief 
as  I  had  left  behind.  Little  Eoddy  lay  under  white 
cloths,  like  the  old  minister's  grandchild.  Ah'eady 
the  two  little  fellows  had  begun  to  be  playmates ;  and 
together  they  had  thrown  aside  their  toy  drums  and 
horses,  and  drooped  away.  I  naturally  talked  to  Burns 
and  liis  wife  about  Mr.  Wells;    and,  rather  thought- 


MEADOWBORO*.  173 

lesslj,  in  speaking  of  his  grief,  alluded  to  the  arrange- 
ments which  the  minister  wished  to  have  made.  'Yes/ 
said  Burns's  wife,  'a  brave  little  chap;'  then,  after  a 
moment,  with  a  sort  of  fierceness,  'but  no  braver 
than  our  Roddy.  They'll  be  buried  the  same  day. 
They  played  together  down  here  on  our  slope ;  and 
pity  'twould  be  they  should  not  be  buried  alike.  AVhat 
say  ye,  Burns?  We'll  go  even  with  the  minister, 
won't  we  ?  Surely  Roddy  shall  have  only  the  brightest 
and  best  about  him.' 

"  Burns  is  poor,  and  in  debt.  They  could  not  make 
such  an  outlay  without  stinting  the  other  children  and 
themselves  in  clothing  and  food.  I  was  sorry  enough 
I  had  said  any  thing.  I  hinted  at  the  expense  as  deli- 
cately as  I  could ;  but  it  was  almost  with  passion  that 
the  woman  spoke  up,  'It's  not  at  such  a  time,  sir, 
that  we'd  be  countino^  dollars.'  I  took  the  charo^e  with 
great  reluctance,  '  When  I  was  ordering  for  the  minis- 
ter, to  order  just  the  same  for  them.'  With  jSIr. 
Wells  again  in  the  evening,  I  told  about  my  call  at  the 
Burns's.  I  feared  ao^ain  I  had  not  been  oruarded  enouo^h  ; 
for  I  saw  that  Mr.  Wells  was  moved,  when  he  heard 
what  Burns  had  done.  He  walked  thoughtfully  across 
the  room.  He  turned  down  the  cloth  from  the  dead 
boy's  brow,  kissed  it,  and  hung  over  it;  then  replaced 
it,  and  was  thoughtful  again.  Sensitive  as  he  was,  I 
knew  there  would  be  positive  solace  to  him  in  having 
the  circumstances  of  the  burial  and  the  grave  rich  and 
tasteful ;  and  could  not  feel  that  it  was  right,  in  such  a 
time  of  agony,  that  he  should  give  them  up. 


174  THE    THIXKING    BAYONET. 

"  Early  the  following  morning,  he  sent  for  me.  lie 
was  with  the  body,  as  before.  '  Let  the  order  be  can- 
celled,' said  he,  Uf  not  too  late.  God  forbid,  that,  in 
the  midst  of  my  chastening,  I  should  set  an  example 
of  luxury,  or  lead  my  poor  neighbors  into  ex^>enditure 
that  must  come  out  of  tlieir  bread ! ' 

"  So  Lenny  and  Roddy  were  buried ;  the  sexton  fas- 
tening a  plain,  walnut  board  down  into  a  plain  coffin, 
above  each  little  wasted  face.  Each  lay  in  a  snow- 
white  night-dress,  with  wild-flowers  upon  his  bosom 
and  in  his  hand ;  and  each  has,  for  a  gravestone,  an 
inexpensive  slab  from  our  quarry  under  the  mountain. 

'*  Now,  Lou,  perhaps  I  see  more  in  this .  than  I 
ought,  or  than  you  will ;  but  do  you  think  every  one 
would  be  so  self-sacrificing  and  thoughtful  at  such  a 
time? 

"  It  is  a  great  bond  between  Mr.  AYells  and  me,  that 
we  both  feel  such  an  interest  in  Herbert.  I  show  him 
the  letters  which  come  from  Herbert ;  always  guarded 
so  carefully,  that  I  may  get  no  idea  of  his  where- 
abouts. You  remember  the  one  I  sent  to  you,  telling 
of  his  new-born  faith,  and  enlistment.  That  I  showed 
to  Mr.  Wells ;  and,  shortly  after,  he  sent  me  this  ac- 
knowledgment. It  was  before  I  came  to  Meadowboro' 
to  live.  It  is  so  characteristic  of  the  old  man,  that  I 
will  send  it  to  you.  I  dare  say  you  may  call  him 
pedantic  ;  but  really,  it  is  from  perfect  simpleness  of 
heart,  that  he  strews  his  letters  and  conversation  with 
these  scraps  of  learning.  He  has  lived  in  seclusion, 
and  is  full  of  old-fashioned  habits.     In  his  quiet,  he 


MEADOWBORO'.  175 

studies  much;  and  his  retentive  memory  keeps  every 
thing  at  hand  for  him.  These  sentences  from  his  read- 
ing come  unbidden  almost  upon  his  pen  and  Hps.  I 
am  sure  that  he  has  no  desire  for  display.  The  giving 
of  place  and  page  is  part  of  the  accuracy  into  which  he 
has  disciplined  himself. 

Mr.  WeUs  to  Putnam  May. 

"  *  My  dear  young  Friend,  —  Indeed,  I  am  much 
beholden  to  you,  in  that  you  so  promptly  have  put  into 
my  hand  these  good  tidings  respecting  Herbert  Lee. 
I  am  much  overjoyed,  that  thus,  at  length,  through  his 
doubt  btegins  to  dawn  the  hght  of  hope  and  trust :  in 
part,  perhaps,  from  some  little  vanity  I  feel,  that  my 
judgment  in  the  matter,  often  pronounced,  will  be  at 
length  justified,  namely,  —  that  the  young  man's  ques- 
tioning was  but  preliminary  to  a  fair  and  sweet  faith ; 
but  principally  because,  when  a  youth,  he  endeared 
himself  to  me  by  many  admirable  traits  of  which  he 
gave  sign,  —  merits  which  needed  indeed  direction  and 
restraint,  but  nevertheless  noteworthy.  Therefore  it  is 
that  I  hail  this  coming  of  peace  into  his  mind. 

" '  My  study,  as  you  know,  is  for  the  most  part  con- 
fined to  those  ancients,  so  venerable  through  their  own 
wisdom,  and  through  the  respect  which  has  been  so  long 
accorded  to  them  ;  yet  I  do  not  abstain  altogether  from 
the  writings  of  our  own  time,  though  I  am  sometimes 
brought  to  think,  that  mere  froth  and  air,  rather  than 
the  sober  substance  of  wisdom,  are  pleasing  to  our 
cotemporaries.     I  have  only  praise,  however,  for  De 


176  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

Tocquevilie.  He,  I  remember,  puts  well,  in  a  pregnant 
sentence,  a  thought  germane  to  this  present  case,  name- 
ly :  "  that  strong  convictions  are  found  only  at  the  two 
ends  of  knowledge,  and  that  doubt  lies  in  the  middle." 
{^Dem.  in  Am.  ch.  xi.) 

"  *  Certainly  this  is  a  wise  man's  language.  Herbert 
Lee,  when  under  my  charge,  was  little  versed  in  men 
or  books ;  and,  moreover,  showed  no  doubting  tendency. 
Though  impetuous,  he  had  much  aspiration  and  abun- 
dant behef.  As  his  knowledge  began  to  gain,  the 
questioning  came,  —  deep,  as  was  natural,  the  strength 
of  his  mind  and  his  sincerity  being  taken  into  account. 
However,  in  his  full  maturity,  —  becoming  anf[3ly  fur- 
nished, through  study  and  experience,  with  wisdom,  — 
he  comes  anew  into  assured  conviction. 

" '  I  like  the  letter  of  the  young  man.  I  like  his 
account  of  the  old  friend  with  whom  fortune  so  strange- 
ly brings  him  face  to  face.  There  is  solid  substance  in 
hearts  that  can  maintain  so  long  the  fire  of  friendship, 
through  separation,  and  diversity  of  feeling.  jNIisled  and 
intemperate  that  young  Claiborne  may  be ;  but  who 
can  say  there  is  no  excellence  in  him?  For  my  part, 
I  incline  to  the  sentiment  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
wise  Lfelius  in  the  dialogue:  "I  am  of  opinion,  that, 
except  among  the  virtuous,  friendship  cannot  exist." 
("  Sed  hoc  primum  sentio,  nisi  in  bonis  amicitiam  esse 
non  posse."  De  jLmicitia,  Y. )  The  sentiments  of  the 
young  man  I  loathe ;  and  his  rage,  in  the  instance 
related,  is  unpardonable.  Well  indeed  may  we  know 
whence  the  taint  is  dra\vn.     As  re^^ards  master,  as  well 


ME  ADO^VBORO' .  177 

as  reofards  slave,  is  that  sentiment  of  Homer  true : 
"  The  half  of  his  nobleness  does  far-sounding  Zeus  take 
away  from  a  man,  when  the  day  of  slavery  seizes  hold 
of  liim." 

["HfiiGv  /up  T'uperjj^  unoaivvTai  evpioira  Zevg 
'Avepog,  evr'av  (iiv  Kara  dovXiov  rj/iap  eXi^Giv.) 

Odys.  xvii.  322-323. 

Yet  there  is  nobility  in  a  nature,  which,  through  every 
thing,  is  mindful  of  a  friend. 

"  ^  But  the  point  in  Herbert's  letter  which  strikes  me 
most  is  the  conclusion  ;  in  which  he  declares,  that,  in 
laying  liis  hand  upon  weapons,  it  is  for  mankind.  We 
may,  I  think,  take  the  young  man  as  representing  the 
spirit  of  pur  nobler  and  higher  toned  youth  to-day, 
who  go  forth  to  fight,  and  who  will  sway  the  nation 
when  the  times  of  our  peace  return.  Remark  the 
breadth  —  the  Christian  breadth,  I  may  say  —  of  the 
spirit ;  and  I  am  much  at  fault  if  it  be  not  something 
new  in  the  world.  I  go  to  Greece  ;  but  among  her 
heroes  I  find  not  one,  who,  when  he  gave  himself  to 
sword  or  spear,  had  a  thought  beyond  Greece.  Bapiiapot 
were  all  others  :  not  precious,  and  worthy  to  die  for. 
I  go  to  Rome  :  it  is  simply  for  Rome  that  her  heroes 
die.  It  is  for  country  ;  but  there  is  no  thought  beyond 
country.  To  die  for  that  was  the  last  refinement  of  the 
Roman  virtus,  —  the  sublimest  limit  of  honor.  If 
the  country  were  wrong,  —  if  it  stood  as  a  curse  in  the 
world,  rather  than  a  benefit,  it  was  the  same.  So 
the  semi-barbarian,  mediaeval  prince,  for  his  first  virtue, 
held   loyalty  to   the   great  stock,    Orsini  or  Colonna, 

8* 


178  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

York  or  Lancaster,  Guise  or  Navarre,  —  the  great 
stock  from  which  he  sprung;  loyalty  to  that,  or  at 
farthest,  to  his  king.  I  know  not  where,  in  the  past, 
we  shall  turn  for  heroes  who  rise  to  the  great  Christian 
thought,  — who  lay  clown  their  lives,  not  for  any  nar- 
row idea,  but  for  their  kind.  But  to-day,  when  our 
nobler  youths,  upon  bloody  fields  breathe  up  their 
spirits  (efflare  a^iimam),  how  is  their  dying  agony 
glorified,  when  the  benumbing  lips  tremble  with  that 
sentence,  the  utterance  of  nobler  chivalry,  "I  die  for 
my  kind."  They  seem  to  say  from  their  holy  sepul- 
chres, "  "We  fight,  we  fall,  for  country  indeed,  but  not 
for  that  alone  ;  for  that,  because  it  secures  everywhere 
weal  for  mankind ;  because  it  means  freedom  to  them 
in  bonds,  and  assures  honor  and  faith  in  all  parts."  So 
seem  they  to  call  to  us  from  their  hallowed  tombs  ;  and, 
in  so  calling,  do  these  their  young  voices  transcend 
even  the  sublimer  utterances  of  antique  heroism.  Le- 
onidas  and  Epaminondas,  ye  were  lower  than  this ! 
farther  down  than  theirs  in  glory  are  your  pedestals,  O 
Brutus  and  Scipio  !  In  this  latter  day  hath  arisen  a 
race  nobler  than  the  old  chivalry ;  weaponed  and  hel- 
meted  now,  that  mankind  may  be  blest ! 

" '  But  whither  does  my  too  inconsiderate  pen  lead 
me  ?  I  fear  I  am  betrayed  beyond  prudence  into  the 
heat  of  rhapsody ;  and  even  you,  my  young  friend,  in- 
dulgent though  I  have  ever  found  you  to  the  talk  of  a 
poor  old  man  (garrulous  often,  I  doubt  not,  and  per- 
haps evidencing  the  approach  of  the  time  of  doting 
folly,  —  "  Senectus  e.st  natura  loquacior") ,  will  scarcely 


MEADOWBOIIO 


179 


bear  with  me.  Yet  so  it  is,  that  the  spectacle  of  vehe- 
ment and  generous  youth  inflames  me  with  an  ardor 
which  perhaps  is  hardly  timely,  —  adm6nished  as  I  am 
by  the  whiteness  of  my  head  to  court  cooler  and  graver 
impressions,  —  until  in  a  manner  I  am  so  stirred  .as  to 
fancy  almost  that  I  might  box  with  Dares  or  run  with 
Phidippides ;  and,  in  my  fever  to  undertake  some 
acliieveraent,  I  am  like  the  youth  in  the  poem,  — 

'  Spumantemque  dari  pecora  inter  inertia  votis, 
Optat  aprum  aut  fulvum  descendere  monte  leonem.'  " 


180  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


EBONY. 


Herbert's  meeting  with  Leonora  proved  a  serious 
matter  for  him.  His  love  for  her  had  onlj  shimbered  ; 
and  when  aroused,  the  circumstances  being  so  hopeless, 
Herbert  was  plunged  into  the  wretchedness  indicated  in 
the  letter  which  he  sent  to  Putnam.  For  the  time,  the 
elasticity  of  his  spirit  had  departed ;  and  when  it  be- 
came necessary  to  endure  hardship,  his  frame  sank 
beneath  it,  the  power  of  resistance  being  in  great  part 
gone.  He  became  ill,  and  was  sent  back  fi-om  the 
front  to  a  town  on  the  border,  as  a  hospital  patient. 
He  grew  better  at  last ;  and,  while  recovering,  found 
work  which  brought  him  a  degree  of  peace.  Here  is 
the  record  of  it  which  he  ,sent  to  Putnam,  careful,  as 
before,  to  give  no  indication  of  his  whereabouts,  — 

From  ^erhert  Lee  to  Putnam  May. 

"  I  have  been  ill ;  but,  my  boy,  I  have  got  it  under 
foot,  I  think.  I  wanted  something  to  kill  time,  while 
recovering.  Whittling,  you  know,  is  the  great  resource 
in  rebel  prisons,  and  the  convalescent  wards  of  hos- 


EBOXY.  .  181 

pitals ;  but  I  could  not  manage  a  knife,  and  doubt 
whether  I  could  be  easy  making  fans  and  jackstraws. 
The  fact  was,  Putnam,  I  was  uneasy  not  to  be  doing 
some  one  good.  I  think  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  to  do 
any  thing  that  will  not  have  a  pretty  direct  bearing 
upon  the  welfare  of  men.  I  hope  I  never  shall  be.  I 
mean  to  tell  you  now  what  I  have  found  to  do  here. 

"  I  managed  early  to  get  the  surgeon's  good  will, 
who  has  given  me  a  little  freer  range  than  is  generally 
allowed.  There  is,  here  in  this  town  where  my  hospital 
is  situated,  quite  a  population  of  free  negroes.  In  a 
slaveholding  community,  of  course,  their  position  has 
always  been  that  of  outcasts.  Since  the  outbreak  of 
the  war,  their  condition  has  been  even  worse  than  it 
was  before.  Their  life  has  been  more  precarious  ;  and, 
though  they  are  frill  of  hope  about  their  future,  the 
upturning  brings  them  much  temporary  suffering.  Too 
often,  now,  they  are  marks  for  kicks  and  cuffs,  even 
with  men  from  the  North.  The  women  are  often  aban- 
doned, the  men  cowed  and  cringing.  The  children 
grow  up  neglected,  in  hovels  ;  for  no  systematic  effort, 
in  the  way  of  instruction  and  relief,  has  been  made 
here  as  yet.  They  are  eager  for  instruction,  and  have 
waited  impatiently  for  the  time,  which  they  have  felt 
was  close  at  hand,  when  they  were  to  obtain  it.  Now, 
the  work  I  have  laid  out  for  part  of  the  day  is  to  turn 
schoolmaster,  and  teach  these  poor  things. 

"  The  black  laundresses  are  here  every  day.  I  asked 
one,  —  Phillis,  a  very  tidy,  respectable  body,  —  if 
there  was  any  school  for  her  people.     'No.'     'Would 


182  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

her  people  like  a  school?'  She  rather  thought  they 
would.  '  Well,  who  are  some  of  your  principal  folks, 
that  I  can  speak:  to  about  it  ?  I  have  half  a  day,  five 
days  in  the  week,  that  I  can  give  for  it ;  and  I  will  keep 
a  school  for  you,  and  you  need  not  pay  any  tiling.' 
Phillis  referred  me  to  a  certain  Aunt  Filey,  who  lived 
on  the  river-bank,  as  having  influence,  and  as  likely  to 
put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  at  the  black  people ;  so  I 
went  with  Phillis  to  see  Aunt  Filey.  I  found  her  in  a 
more  decent  house  than  belongs  to  most  of  her  race 
here,  —  a  tall,  large  woman,  of  quite  dignified  bearing, 
plainly  with  some  white  blood  in  her  veins.  She  re- 
ceived me  gravely  and  courteously,  and  I  sat  down  in 
a  chair  by  the  side  of  her  ironing-table.  A  colored 
Methodist  preacher,  at  that  time,  I  found,  was  staying 
in  her  house.  He  was  employed  as  a  hand  aboard  a 
river  transport,  usually ;  but  had  been  sick,  and  had 
stopped  a  few  days  among  the  negroes  here.  The  work 
of  examining  me  was  given  over  to  him. 

"  It  was  a  tough  piece  of  business  for  the  poor  fellow. 
He  belonged  to  the  down-trodden  class,  I  to  the 
whites ;  and  apparently,  so  far  as  my  dress  was  an 
indication,  to  those  from  whom  he  was  too  often  accus- 
tomed to  receive  insult  and  abuse,  and  before  whom  he 
was  used  to  bowing  and  submission.  Yet,  I  think, 
the  man  honestly  felt  his  responsibility.  'The  child'n,' 
he  said,  hesitatingly,  '  ought'n  to  be  given  to  any  one 
who  might  offer.  He  hoped  de  cap'n  would'n  take  no 
offence.  He  spoke  for  de  folks  ;  and  he  reckoned  dey 
was  some  skeered.'     I  made  it  as  easy  for  him  as  I 


EBONY.  183 

could;  put  on  a  genial  face,  and  told  him  to  ask  any 
questions  he  chose.  There  was  really  need  of  his  cau- 
tion. But  to  question  me  was  a  hard  thing  for  that 
poor,  ignorant  deck-hand  to  do.  I  looked  at  him  with 
pity,  —  dull  and  ignorant,  with  little  self-respect,  and 
hardly  the  pluck  to  look  me  in  the  face ;  yet  with  the 
sense  of  responsibility  in  his  breast,  a  dim  recognition 
of  what  was  proper  in  the  case,  and  a  faithful  effort  to 
do  his  duty. 

"  He  was  shy  of  giving  his  entire  approval.  He 
said,  at  last,  that  that  night  he  was  going  to  preach. 
If  I  chose,  I  might  go  with  him  to  the  church.  There 
I  should  see  a  number  of  the  people  ;  and,  when  he  had 
finished,  I  might  say  to  them  what  I  chose. 

"  I  was  punctually  at  Aunt  Filey's  in  the  evening, 
in  a.  shirt  fresh  from  the  hands  of  Phillis.  In  the  twi- 
light, we  set  out  in  procession.  Aunt  Filey  led  the 
way,  —  with  her  large,  dignified  figure,  and  arms 
crossed  under  her  shawl.  Then  came  the  minister,  — 
heavy-shouldered  and  slouching,  with  an  awkward, 
shambling  gait.  Then  Phillis,  my  washerwoman,  be- 
hind whom  I  followed.  Two  young  women  brought 
up  the  rear.  jNIost  of  the  time,  we  had  to  go  in  single 
file.  The  unpaved  streets  were  deep  with  mud ;  the 
,wooden  sidewalks  out  of  repair,  leaving  in  some  places 
obly  a  single  plank.  At  length,  the  sidewalks  disap- 
peared entirely,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
wade  through  the  abysses  of  black  mud.  The  air  was 
damp,  and  full  of  drizzle ;  the  evening  grew  dark. 
We  came   at  last   to   a  distant  quarter  of  the  town, 


184  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

where  stood  the  church,  —  a  poor,  slight  building,  sur- 
rounded by  miserable  houses,  —  a  little  back  from  the 
mud  of  the  street.  The  gable  end  faced  us.  It  had 
no  windows  ;  only  a  door  in  the  centre.  We  passed 
in.  Every  thing  was  cheap  and  coarse,  to  the  last 
degree.  A  large,  rusty  stove  stood  near  the  door. 
Rude,  unpainted  benches  faced  an  unpainted  desk.  The 
only  lights  were  two  poor  candles,  which  stood  upon 
the  desk.  Although  the  light  was  so  dim,  I  could  see 
marks  of  violence.  The  panels  of  tlie  door  had  been 
broken ;  the  window-sashes  at  the  side  smashed,  and  a 
sill  badly  split :  but  an  attempt  had  been  made  to  patch 
up  the  injury,  and  make  the  building  decent  again.  I 
afterward  learned,  that,  a  few  evenings  before,  there  had 
been  a  rowdy  attack.  Upon  the  benches  sat  a  company 
of  men,  women,  and  children,  who  rather  shrank  from 
me  as  I  came  in ;  probably  fearing  that  I  had  come  to 
make  some  disturbance.  I  took  my  seat  upon  the  front 
bench,  and  was  glad  to  see  that  the  little  congregation 
were  somewhat  re-assured,  after  Aunt  Filey  and  Phillis 
had  whispered  a  few  sentences  about  among  them. 

"  The  service  went  forward.  There  were  some  things 
plaintive,  some  things  grotesque.  They  sang  a  hymn, 
which  was  unintelligible,  for  the  most  part,  to  me. 
Then  came  an  impassioned,  incoherent  prayer ;  then 
the  sermon.  The  minister  spoke  an  hour.  When  he 
had  finished,  he  said,  ^  There  was  some  one  there  who 
had  something  to  say  to  the  people ; '  and,  bowing,  said 
*  that  now  I  could  have  the  chance.'  Thus  introduced, 
I  rose,  and  made  my  speech.     I  tried  to  speak  very 


EBOXY.  185 

kindly ;  said  I  had  time  to  give  to  teaching  them,  and 
wished  to  employ  it  so.  I  assured  them  I  would  faith- 
fully give  them  help.  The  minister  had  never  been 
entirely  satisfied.  When  I  had  finished,  he  had  some 
questions  to  put  to  me.  He  was  considerably  bolder 
now,  poor  fellow,  than  he  had  been  at  Aunt  Filey's ; 
the  congregation  giving  him  confidence.  I  had  my 
fears  that  I  could  not  satisfy  him  when  he  began  to 
propose  a  aeries  of  questions  as  to  my  theological  belief. 
My  heresies  have  been  grave  enough,  as  you  know.  I 
tried  to  couch  my  answers  in  such  terms  as  would  not 
shock  them,  and  felt  that  I  was  doing  tolerably  well. 
At  length,  however,  he  took  out  his  prayer-book,  and 
turned  over  a  few  pages.  I  saw  that  his  face  bright- 
ened. I  knew  that  the  crisis  had  come.  He  had  found 
a  question  that  would  reveal  me  fully.  If  I  could 
answer  it  in  a  satisfactory  way,  I  might  hope  to  have 
the  confidence  of  him  and  his  flock  from  that  time 
forth.  I  waited  with  anxiety.  About  the  room,  you 
might  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  Every  mouth  was  open, 
every  eye  fixed  on  the  minister  and  me.  It  came  at 
last.  'Does  you  believe  dat  God  is  God,  and  dat 
Christ  is  Christ?'  That,  truly,  was  the  question.  The 
suspense,  for  a  moment,  was  painful.  I  stated  that  I 
could  say,  without  reserve,  I  did  believe  it.  I  avowed, 
that,  in  my  mind,  there  was  no  doubt  upon  the  subject. 
There  was  a  general  sigh  of  relief.  The  minister 
bowed,  and  said  he  was  satisfied.  The  doubtful  faces 
about  began  to  look  cheerful  and  confiding ;  and  I 
have  no  doubt  now  about  having  the  full  confidence  of 


186  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

these  poor,  simple  souls.  It  is  pitiful,  and  yet  gro- 
tesque too, — is  it  not? 

"  The  school  opened,  the  day  after  this  examination. 
Young  and  old  were  there,  —  gray-haired  men  and 
women,  and  little  children,  that  could  hardly  toddle. 
I  have  enjoyed  it.  I  took  hold  of  it  solemnly,  as  I 
shall  always,  I  trust,  take  hold  of  every  thing  hereafter. 
Still,  there  was  a  humorous  side  to  the  experience, 
which  I  came  to  enjoy  at  last.  Strength  returned,  and 
with  it  came  buoyancy  of  heart;  so  that,  while  I 
worked  for  the  good  of  these  poor  souls,  I  found  my- 
self laughing  with  and  at  them ;  so  droll,  yet  so 
melancholy,  —  always  in  kindness,  I  trust.  Perhaps, 
during  these  two  or  three  months,  when  I  have  gone 
daily  to  the  poor  little  church,  I  have  lifted  them  a 
little.  I  have  tried ;  and  they  too  have  lifted  me  with 
the  clasp  of  their  dark  hands  and  trustful  faces  :  so  that 
again  I  am  buoyant,  and  I  fancy  you  will  see  that  my 
pen  floats  buoyantly  through  the  account  I  write. 

"  The  women  would  put  off  their  washing,  the  men 
give  up  their  chance  of  finding  'jobs,'  to  come  to  'de 
scule.'  Among  them,  they  contributed  a  load  of  wood. 
They  patched  up  the  broken  windows,  and  tried  to 
make  things  comfortable.  Phillis  came,  gay  with  rib- 
bons. A  family  of  pretty,  hazel-eyed,  cream-colored 
quadroons,  came  in  similar  attire.  The  men,  too,  put 
on  their  Sunday  finery.  There  were  decayed  dress- 
coats,  fancy-figured  vests,  flounces  and  soiled  velvets. 
I  tried  to  make  them  feel,  that  neatness  was  rather  the 
thing  to  be  desked,  and  not  all  this  display. 


EBONY.  187 

"  So,  for  four  hours  a  day,  I  taught  them.  The  first 
enthusiasm  died  away,  and  the  school  dwindled  a  little  ; 
but  that  was  natural.  It  was  the  novelty  that  had 
attracted  many.  When  it  became  an  old  story,  and 
they  found  there  was  hard  work  in  learning,  the  more 
indolent  and  capricious  drew  off;  but  a  fair  number 
remained  to  the  end.  In  the  little  room,  the  air  would 
often  grow^  bad  with  the  crowd;  and  I  would  throw 
open  doors  and  windows. 

"When  I  bent  down  close  by  my  gi'imy  pupils,  in 
the  writing  lesson,  —  cheek  by  jowl  with  them,  — 
taking  their  hands  into  mine,  as  I  guided  them  in  the 
formation  of  the  letters,  there  was  no  peculiar  African 
smell,  that  I  could  discover.  There  was  dirt  enough. 
1  object  to  it ;  but,  when  I  am  put  to  it,  I  can  endure 
dirt ;  for  what  is  dirt  ?  I  fall  back  on  my  chemistry. 
Analyze  it,  my  boy,  and  it  is  nothing  but  carbon, 
oleine,  salts,  alkalies,  the  very  substances  which,  in 
almost  the  same  proportions,  go  to  make  up  the  most 
savory  food  and  the  choicest  perfume. 

"  My  school  did  well  in  reading  and  Avriting,  and  in 
all  things  requiring  merely  exercise  of  memory ;  but, 
with  arithmetic,  many  of  my  pupils  came  to  sad  grief. 
I  spent  many  days  trying  to  teach  a  class  to  count  on 
their  fingers.  Every  day,  they  stood  before  me  in  a 
despairing  row,  their  wits  as  hopelessly  snarled  together 
as  the  kinks  in  their  wool ;  extending,  in  a  melancholy 
\A'ay,  their  dark  and  dirty  digits,  with  the  fore-finger  of 
the  right  touching,  one  by  one,  the  fingers  of  the  left 
hand,  following  the  operation  with  vacant  eyes.     AVith 


188  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

some  of  them,  it  was  of  no  use.  Sometimes  I  would 
strike  up  the  multiplicatiou-table  to  a  favorite  tune. 
For  that,  they  were  all  sufficient.  It  was  learned, 
from  twice  one  to  twelve  times  twelve,  in  a  very  little 
while  ;  and  they  would  roll  it  off  with  a  strength  of 
lungs  that  was  inspiring ;  black  Nancy  Bugg  and  the 
cream -colored  Flowers  girls  handsomely  carrying  the 
treble,  while  old  gray-headed  Jim  boomed  away  from 
the  back  bench  in  a  mighty  bass. 

"  In  due  time,  I  had  a  visit  from  my  poor  friend,  the 
minister.  The  'Bald  Eagle  Xo.  2,'  his  boat,  had 
injured  one  of  its  cylinders  ;  and,  being  laid  up  for  a 
week  for  repairs,  he  was  at  liberty  again  to  visit  his 
flock.  The'scule'  was,  for  the  time  being,  the  lion 
among  the  blacks ;  an^  the  minister,  who  had  so  con- 
spicuous a  hand  in  putting  it  into  operation,  naturally 
would  want  to  examine  into  its  progress.  His  coars6 
shirt,  —  worn  by  bales  and  tobacco  hogsheads,  — ■'  and 
his  cotton-hook,  for  the  time  were  laid  aside.  He  wore 
a  threadbare,  cast-off  dress-coat,  of  an  ancient  fashion, 
very  shabby ;  and,  below,  pants  of  the  coarse  material 
they  sell  at  the  South  for  slave  clothing.  In  this  in- 
congruous attire,  he  was  vastly  less  respectable  than 
when  I  saw  him  once  on  the  deck  of  the  *  Bald  Ea^-le 

c 

No.  2,'  as  she  stopped  at  the  wharf  to  coal.  Then  he 
was  in  his  rough  shirt,  in  which  he  seemed  at  home ; 
and  which  set  not  ungracefully  across  his  broad  and 
brawny  shoulders. 

"  He  is  a  good  man,  who  tried  manfully,  according 
to  his  %ht  and   o^Ifts,  to  do  his  dutv  m  the  first  in- 


EBONY.  189 

stance,  when  I  made  my  proposal  to  teach,  as  I  have 
told  you;  but  I  know  that  he  was  not  altogether 
pleased.  I  know  I  have  done  his  flock  good;  and 
really  it  is  a  matter  of  positive  sorrow  to  me  to  think 
that  honest,  simple  soul  should  suffer  any  disappoint- 
ment. I  think  of  his  visit,  and  examination  of  'de 
scule,'  with  regret,  and  at  the  same  time  with  a  smile. 
In  my  university,  the-  curriculum  had  not  embraced 
much  biblical  instruction ;  whereas  I  saw  that  the 
preacher  thought  that  should  be  a  main  thing,  as  was 
natural  indeed.  I  wanted  to  please  my  visitor;  but 
you  know  the  perversity  of  things.  Of  course,  the 
blunders  and  levities  were  more  outrageous  than  ever 
before. 

"  I  gave  the  school  into  the  preacher's  hands.  A 
class  was  called  upon  to  read.  On  the  board,  I  chalked 
the  sentence,  '  God  is  kind,  and  shows  mercy.'  Tom- 
my, a  black  little  chap,  was  called  upon  to  spell  it  out. 
He  stood  on  tip-toe,  wriggling  in  his  intellectual  spasm. 
At  length,  with  ^  shows,'  he  was  fairly  ashore.  So  was 
the  entire  class,  all  but  Nancy,  —  a  little  girl  of  eight, 
—  who  waved  her  hands  in  a  frantic  manner,  in  token 
of  her  abihty  to  master  the  difficulty.  '  Well,  Nancy, 
what  is  it?  God  is  kind,  and  —  what?'  'Skittish!' 
shouted  Nancy,  —  to  my  dismay,  and  that  of  the 
preacher,  who,  I  saw,  found  it  painful. 

"  Meantime  Tommy,  discharged  from  the  questioning, 
was  giving  certain  instructions,  on  his  own  account,  to 
a  pupil  near  by.  In  front  of  his  seat  sat  a  very  dingy 
and  kinky  little  darkey,  into  whose  young  mind  Tom- 


190  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

my  had  managed,  I  believe,  to  infuse  the  notion  that 
every  thing  great  and  good  centred  in  him.  Before 
the  distended  eyes  of  this  wonder-struck  young  man, 
Tommy  was  displaying  a  large  number  of  accomplish- 
ments. First,  he  looked  cross-eyed  Steadily  at  the  end 
of  his  nose.  Then,  holding  up  his  hands,  he  put  both 
thumbs  out  of  joint.  Then  he  exhibited  a  surprising 
suppleness  of  his  forefingers.  -  Then  he  lifted  up  his 
leg,  and  put  his  heel  behind  his  head ;  all  of  which  ex- 
hibitions, produced  within  the  soul  of  his  admirer, 
apparently,  the  most  profound  awe  ;  and  they  certainly 
were  noticeable,  as  showing  the  extent  to  which  the 
institution  of  bones  and  joints  in  the  human  frame  may 
be  abrogated  by  genius  and  persevering  effort.  For  a 
crowning  feat.  Tommy,  straightening  up,  patted  his 
belly  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  rubbed  the 
wool  on  the  top  of  his  head,  —  an  art  which  Tommy  had 
mastered  only  after  the  most  patient  labor,  and  which 
so  overcame  the  little  boy,  his  rapt  disciple,  that  he 
groaned  aloud.  I  had  seen  it  all,  but  had  not  interfered  ; 
but  here  the  preacher  turned  toward  him  suddenly,  and 
surprised  him  in  the  midst  of  his  iniquity.  -Brother 
Jones  told  him  he  was  a  bad  boy,  —  ^he'd  seen  how 
much  he  knowed ; '  and  asked  him  who  killed  Abel. 
'  Didn'  know  he  was  dead,'  said  Tommy,  in  his  shame 
and  confusion.  Brother  Jones's  countenance  expressed 
still  further  dismay.  He  began  to  tell  the  school  the 
story  of  the  prophet,  and  the  children,  who,  for  their 
insolence,  were  eaten  up  by  the  bears,  with  an  implied 
reference  to  the  discomfited  Tommy,  as  if  he  had  been 


EBOxy.  191 

guilty  of  a  similar  offence.  Then  he  sought  to  draw 
from  Nancy  an  opinion,  that  it  was  suitable  retribution 
for  the  sin. 

"Xance,  who  was  wayward  and  independent,  and  not 
without  sympathy  for  poor  Tommy,  said,  'Dunno, 
'spose  'twas  kind  o'  mean  in  them  young  uns  to  sass 
the  prophet ; '  then  paused,  leaving  it  to  be  inferred 
by  the  reticence  in  her  reply,  that  Nance  thought 
the  bears  rather  overdid  the  matter  of  punishment. 
When  Brother  Jones  bade  farewell,  though  externally 
he  was  polite,  it  was  plain  he  felt,  that,  after  all,  "  de 
scule  "  was  not  an  entire  success.  I  saw  it,  and  was 
grieved ;  for  I  would  have  preferred  to  have  him 
pleased. 

"  This  work  is  done  ;  satisfactory  in  the  circumstances. 
But  now  for  the  sterner  duties.  My  business  for  now, 
Putnam,  must  be  with  the  gun-lock,  rather  than  with 
the  pen  and  pencil.  First,  let  us  free  these  poor  souls  ; 
then  we  will  lift  them  up,  and  the  others,  who  have 
been  sinking  themselves  while  keeping  these  down. 
Right  enough  for  any,  who  see  it  to  be  their  plainest 
duty,  to  do  this  teaching ;  but  it  is  borne  in  upon  my 
spirit,  — fervent  now  and  dutiful,  I  trust,  —  that  to-day 
my  proper  equipment  is  the  warrior's  harness  ;  my 
place,  among  the  choking  battery-smoke,  and  the  dust 
of  charging  men.  I  clinch  my  hand,  as  I  used  to 
about  my  oar,  and  the  muscles  knot  hard  into  the  old 
ridges.  So  they  shall  knot  to-morrow,  when  I  catch 
my  good  musket-stock.  I  go  forth  again  with  joy,  in 
my  deepest  soul  bidden  thus  forward." 


192  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

Herbert  returned  to  his  regiment,  and,  in  a  few 
weeks,  received  the  following  letter  from  one  of  his 
black  pupils,  by  the  hands  of  a  soldier,  returning  from 
hosjiital :  — 

"  Dear  Sir,  i  hope  you  enjoyed  teaching  us  and  will 
be  rewared  for  it  in  a  day  to  come.  I  have  sawall  the 
scolars  they  aire  all  glad  to  hear  from  you  and  wold 
like  to  see  you  and  wold  like  to  have  you  to  teach  them 
again.  Nancy  Bugg  is  dead  and  Mrs  Henderson 
have  had  much  troubel  since  you  left  she  has  lost  her 
husband  he  got  drowed.  Mary  ballard  is  married 
and  also  Eliza  flowers,  all  the  cholars  old  and  young 
sends  there  compliments  to  you  and  wold  like  to  see 
you  very  much  —  the  weather  is  pleasant  hear  you 
must  excuse  Mee  fornot  riting  sooner  i  am  very  sor- 
row to  have  say  that  wee  have  no  school  now  you  don't 
thought  no  often  of  us  than  wee  do  of  you  i  wold 
like  to  see  you  very  much  indeed  pleas  answer  this 
letter  as  i  am  ankious  to  hear  from  you  nowmore  at 
at  present,  yours  very  truely  particular. 

EuTH  T.  Lofton." 

Pretty  good  for  Ruth, — is  it  not?  a  young  yellow 
woman  she  is,  with  blue  eyes,  and  hair  neither  very 
dark  nor  curly.  She  knew  her  letters,  and  a  little  more, 
when  the  school  began ;  but  her  penmanship  and  spell- 
ins  came  durino:  the  few  months  when  she  was  imder 
Herbert's  tuition.  JNIany  times  had  he  bent  down  beside 
her  to  guide  her  hand  in  writing  !  That  letter  cost  her 
a  good  two  or  three  days'  work,  there  is  no  doubt.    One 


EBONY. 


193 


can  see  poor  Ruth,  hurrying  through  at  her  wash-tub ; 
putting  on  a  clean,  dry  dress,  and  taking  a  pen  into  her 
scarred,  parboiled  hands,  to  make  another  and  then  an- 
other copy.  This  comes  with  only  three  blots.  Imagine 
how  her  tongue  must  have  stuck  out  with  the  pains  she 
took. 


194  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


CYPRESS      BAYOU. 


It  is  a  forward  movement :  cool  in  the  morning ;  blaz- 
ing hot  at  noon ;  cold  and  damp  again  through  the  dew 
at  night.  Pat  is  accoutred  like  a  practised  old  cam- 
paigner. Gun  and  belts,  of  course,  are  part  of  him. 
Next  to  the  bayonet-sheath,  hangs  a  hatchet ;  from  the 
cross-belt  in  front  hangs  a  crocky  little  kettle ;  and, 
strapped  on  to  the  outside  of  the  knapsack  behind,  is  a 
spider.  Pat  and  Herbert  carry  each  the  half  of  a  shel- 
ter-tent. At  night  they  button  them  together  ;  and  the 
gentleman,  and  this  rude  familiar  of  his,  lie  down  close 
side  by  side  in  their  sweaty,  dusty  clothes,  to  keep  warm 
under  the  coolness  and  mist. 

The  great  army  tramps  and  rumbles  forward.  There 
are  cavalry  in  a  bustling  swarm,  captain  at  the  head; 
jingling  troopers  galloping  behind,  buzzing,  humming 
everywhere ;  gathering,  dispersing,  restless  like  bees, 
and  banded  and  belted  with  yellow  bars  and  welts 
against  the  darker  uniform,  like  bees  ;  searching  sus- 
picious patches  of  woods  ;  streaming  out  from  the  road 
to  farm-houses  ;  hurrying  over  and  around  little  knolls, 
behind  which  danger  may  be.     Now  and  then,  from  a 


CYPRESS   BAYOU.  195 

group  across  a  field,  comes  the  crack  of  rifles ;  and 
you  see  the  light  smoke  and  dust  where  a  party  of 
hostile  scouts  is  making  off. 

Heavily  rolls  the  artillery  along  the  roads  :  the  siege- 
piece  with  its  team  of  eight  tugging  horses  ;  the  lighter 
fiel4-piece,  with  its  spirited  horses  prancing  before  it ; 
cannon  now  polished,  cannon  now  dull  and  tarnished, 
iridescent  about  the  muzzle,  smutched  at  the  breech, 
from  the  heat  and  smoke  of  discharges  during  the 
night,  when  there  was  an  alarm  ;  gunners,  sitting  with 
folded  arms,  in  front ;  gunners  behind,  on  the  dark 
green  iron-banded  caissons ;  finely  mounted  oflBcers, 
decked  with  red,  riding  at  the  side  ;  and  the  red-barred 
bugler,  side  by  side  with  the  pennon-bearer,  at  the  head 
of  each  battery.  These  roll  and  rumble  along  the  road, 
except  in  case  of  an  alarm.  Then,  in  a  moment,  the 
fence  is  down,  or  a  way  slashed  with  axes  through  the 
hedge.  Off  into  the  fields  the  galloping  horses  hurry 
the  guns  ;  through  the  mire,  over  the  knolls,  gunners 
holding  hard  upon  theu'  rocking  seats,  —  then  halt !  the 
horses  are  in  the  rear ;  each  piece  braces  back  upon 
its  limber ;  the  ready  mouth  is  toward  the  danger ;  a 
brawny  fellow,  at  the  caisson  behind,  stands  ready  with 
a  loaded  shell. 

Forward  toils  the  infantry.  In  the  morning  they 
are  fresh  and  cheerful.  The  blistered  feet  of  the  day 
before  are  less  sensitive  ;  the  strained  sinews  are  supple 
again.  At  the  call,  each  regiment  packs  away  its  camp 
upon  the  back ;  for  a  moment,  a  long  double  line  upon 
the  trampled,  rubbish-strewn  field, — then  face  to  the 


196  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

right,  and  file  into  the  road.  Far  over  the  land  sound 
out  the  drums  at  the  start ;  jolly  are  the  faces,  loud  the 
joke,  and  long  the  laugh ;  colonel  at  the  head  of  the 
column,  surgeon  in  the  rear ;  captain,  with  neat  haver- 
sack and  pistol-belt,  and  sword  over  shoulder,  at  the 
head  of  each  hundred ;  guns  at  the  right  shoulder 
shift ;  in  each  company  the  line  sloping  back  from  the 
big  fellows  on  the  right  to  the  little  fellows  in  the  rear. 
Woe  to  the  poor  fellows  detailed  for  flankers  !  who  must 
carry  all  that  the  others  carry,  but  forsake  the  smooth 
and  beaten  path  ;  climbing  fences  in  a  long  line,  pushing 
through  brakes,  wading  through  morasses,  searching 
behind  plantation  buildings,  out  from  the  road,  just 
within  hail  to  guard  the  line  from  rebs  in  ambush. 
Then,  toward  noon,  how  the  heat  comes  down  !  the  lag- 
ging and  the  limping !  Heads  that  were  up  begin  to 
droop  ;  the  man  who  sang  begins  to  curse  ;  the  joker  is 
silent  and  sad ;  the  man  who  kindly  laughs  when  the 
joke  is  made  is  deeply  rueful.  No  sign  of  energy  ex- 
cept at  a  halt :  then  the  desperate  rush  for  good  places 
in  the  shade,  —  a  forest,  a  fence,  a  group  of  farm-build- 
ings ;  your  most  amiable  and  long-suffering  friend, 
snarling  through  his  perspiration  in  the  bitterest  man- 
ner, if,  in  the  jumble,  your  elbow  or  musket-butt  come 
into  a  position  to  give  him  inconvenience. 

Pat  Flanagan  —  short,  broad  Irishman,  with  soles 
broad  as  his  shoulder-blades,  and  pants  tucked  into  his 
russet  army  stockings,  to  keep  the  dust  out  of  his  legs  ; 
flinging  himself  back  upon  his  haversack,  until  its 
unyielding  bowels   of  hard  tack  crack,  sucking  gur- 


CYPRESS   BAYOU. 


197 


glingly  at  his  Q^ni^Qn  —  loquitur :  "  AYhoosh  !  wheere 
was^the  morils  he  shwore  to  Biddy  that  he'd  kape?  he'd 
been  contint  his  Hfe  long  wid  mere  innicint  whishkey ; 
but,  begorra !  he  was  conthracting  a  curse  of  a  taste 
for  that"  liquor  of  the  ould  divil,  —  could  wather." 
Pat's  "Biddy"  was  purely,  mythical,  but  often  al- 
luded to. 

In  the  rear  of  all  roll  the  great  wagons,  with  sub- 
sistence   and    reserve    ammunition;     grinding    through 
dust  and  ruts,  behind  the  awkward  heels  of  the  mules, 
—  compounds  of  iron  and  the  toughest  hide.     What  to 
another  animal  would  be  roughest  abuse,  is  only  gentle 
and  agreeable   cosseting  to  them.     Their  drivers  feed 
them  or  not,  as  they  like  ;  it  not  seeming  to  make  any 
particular  difference.     But  laud  not  the  merits  of  the 
mule.     Herbert  thinks,  when  once  he  has  had  his  hair 
raised  to  the  stiflPest  perpendicular  by  its   discordant, 
diabolical  bray,  that  it  is  indeed  a  very  terrible  and  dis- 
agreeable fly  that  is  contained  in  this  piece  of  amber. 
°Gen.    Holyoake,    the    officer    of    growing   fome,  — 
freshly  laurelled  now,  for  certain  skilful  manoeuvres  in 
face  of  the  enemy,  —  now  and  then  gallops,  with  his 
staff,  by  the  side  of  the  great  moving  column  under  his 
command;   he  in  the  advance,  the   colonels   and   cap- 
tains of  his  staff  streaming  a  few  rods  behind ;  and,  at 
the    rear    of  all,  the  mounted   orderly,  with  the  red, 
white,  and  blue  flag  of  the  division.     The  hoofs  of  his 
horse  fling  the  dust  over  Herbert,  as  he  moves  to  one 
side  out  of  his  place  at  the  side  of  the  column.     Her- 
bert is  sweating  and  footsore,  the  drops  cutting  channels 


108  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

through  the  grimy  coating  that  comes  to  cover  over  his 
face ;  quiet  but  resolute,  where  scores  curse  and  grum- 
ble ;  and  often  with  room  upon  his  back  for  the  gun  or 
the  blanket  of  a  comrade. 

They  enter  towns  deserted  by  their  former  popula- 
tion. One  night,  it  is  ^  town  lying  upon  the  bank 
of  a  navigable  stream.  Herbert,  wandering  alone,  goes 
into  deserted  streets,  with  something  the  feeling  which 
he  had  years  before  in  Pompeii.  There  are  stores  with 
the  old  signs  ;  workshops,  tenements  of  all  dimensions  ; 
but,  of  the  former  white  population,  hardly  one  re- 
mains. Herbert  comes  upon  the  church,  which  is 
old  enough  to  be  venerable,  with  a  mossy  tower  and 
time-stained  walls,  clad  with  vines  which  reach  to  the 
eaves.  The  church-yard  is  deeply  shadowed  ;  and  in  it 
are  numerous  tombs  and  stones,  many  of  them  dating 
back  more  than  a  century.  He  passes  within  the  por- 
tals of  the  church,  removing  his  hat  as  he  comes  within 
the  shadow  of  the  aisles.  A  large,  plain  interior,  with 
a  gallery  running  about  three  sides,  an  organ  at  the 
end ;  and,  opposite,  the  chancel,  with  pulpit  and  read- 
ing-desk. Here  came  to  worship  the  more  prominent 
families  of  the  neighborhood.  "  Proud  eyes,"  Herbert 
thinks,  "  have  glanced  here,  when  the  minister,  in 
surplice,  has  given  thanks  for  rebel  successes.  Earnest 
responses  have  rung  here  from  haughty  dames  and 
gentlemen,  when  the  Litany,  specially  provided,  be- 
souofht  our  destruction."  Herbert  o^oes  into  the  minis- 
ter's  room.  The  floor  still  has  its  carpet,  worn  by  the 
feet  of  the  clergyman.     In  one  comer  lies  in  confusion 


CYPRESS   BAYOU.  199 

a  theological  library.  It  is  well  selected,  made  up  of 
works  of  standard  value.  There  are  Burnet,  and 
volumes  of  Tillotson,  and  Jeremy  Taylor  in  the  very 
edition  which  Herbert  has  known. 

The  sergeant  comes  out,  and  goes  slowly  onward. 
He  approaches  a  fine  mansion.  He  goes  up  the  step, 
hesitates  a  minute  before  the  open  door,  but  enters  ;  for 
there  is  no  master  or  mistress  to  forbid  the  stranger's 
raneinor  from  room  to  room.  It  is  a  scene  of  destruc- 
tion ;  done  in  part  by  negroes,  who,  finding  the  weight 
of  subjection  suddenly  removed,  have  bounded  up 
sometimes  into  mid  license ;  done  in  part  by  the  ruder 
soldiery.  In  the  parlor  stands  a  richly-carved  piano, 
with  the  top  dashed  off.  A  litter  of  fine  furniture, 
more  or  less  broken,  strews  every  apartment.  Herbert 
goes  forward  to  another  mansion.  A  gate  admits  him 
to  the  handsome  garden  and  grounds.  Orange  and 
lemon  trees  there  are,  with  a  variety  of  vines  and  luxu- 
riant shrubs.  Roses  bloom  in  the  beds ;  the  cactus 
and  oleander,  and  other  flowers,  that  elsewhere  demand 
the  shelter  of  a  green-house,  push  up  large  and  vigor- 
ous on  every  side.  Here,  on  a  trellis,  Herbert  sees  a 
vine  whose  flowers  have  a  gorgeous  tint ;  delicate  it 
is  in  perfume  and  hue,  as  a  tea-rose,  yet  larger  than 
the  peony.  The  lord  of  the  deserted  garden,  it  flings 
largesses  of  beauty  and  fragrance  over  the  paths  of 
white  shell,  and  the  beds  of  humbler  blossoms,  — rich 
gifts,  gathered  eagerly  by  the  senses  of  the  march-worn 
Northern  stranger.  The  mansion,  like  the  others,  has 
been  rifled ;  but  Herbert  finds  the  wreck  of  its  former 


200  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

elegance  strewn  on  every  floor.  The  rich  cornices  re- 
main, the  costly  wainscot,  elegant  chimney-ornaments 
of  Parian  and  alabaster,  tables,  divans,  side-boards. 
One  room  is  the  library.  The  books  have  been  mostly 
removed ;  but  a  litter  of  pamphlets  and  letters  cumbers 
the  floor.  Herbert  takes  up  one,  whose  cover  and 
leaves  are  partially  gone.  It  is  a  copy  of  Froissart,  — 
an  appropriate  souvenir  of  a  haughty  family.  There 
are  periodicals  in  various  languages,  sermons,  poems, 
speeches,  classics  in  Latin,  standards  from  our  own 
literature.  "  The  dispossessed  master  of  all  this," 
thinks  Herbert,  "  surely  was  a  man  of  refinement  and 
piety."  In  the  upper  rooms  are  heaped  up  the  school- 
books  and  playthings  of  children,  and  heaps  of  letters, 
in  female  hands. 

Herbert  <2:oes  on  down  the  street.  Here  lived  a  rebel 
general ;  so  he  learns  from  'a  guard  near.  Herbert 
ascends  the  marble  steps,  and  looks  in  upon  the  table 
of  the  commander ;  heaped,  as  lie  left  it,  with  blank 
muster-rolls,  prepared  for  the  hostile  force.  Doors  and 
windows  are  thrown  open,  or  dashed  in,  to  the  damp  of 
night  and  the  sun  of  day.  In  one  house,  the  huge  pier- 
glasses  remain  yet  unbroken.  A  quartermaster  has 
established  himself  there ;  and  pork,  flour,  and  cloth- 
ing are  distributed  in  the  drawing-room,  amidst  the 
unshattered  elegance.  The  feet  of  sentinels  tread  a 
marble  pavement,  and  orderlies  in  rough  uniforms 
brush  against  rosewood.  Through  the  streets,  here 
and  there,  clatter  companies  of  cavalry ;  and  batteries 
bivouac  in  the  public  squares. 


CYPRESS   BAYOU.  201 

Now  the  dusk  Mis  upon  these  sacked  and  deserted 
mansions ;  in  the  midst  of  their  gardens,  the  box  fring- 
ing the  beds,  the  rose  blooming  in  the  bower,  the  ivy 
mantling  the  lattice.  Herbert  climbs  a  staircase,  and 
stands  alone  in  a  deserted  chamber.  The  evening  star 
—  shinino^  as  it  does  nowhere  else  than  in  the  clear 
deeps  of  the  Southern  heavens  —  is  so  bright  as  to 
cast  a  shadow.  Herbert  follows  its  beam  out  upon  a 
balcony,  and  looks  upon  the  river  near,  rippling  in  its 
light.  The  moon  rises  at  last;  and,  with  its  wand  of 
light,  turns  every  sign  of  roughness  and  dilapidation 
(for  such  appear  with  the  signs  of  taste  and  elegance, 
in  almost  all  these  Southern  homes)  into  splendor. 
The  hour  and  the  circumstances  are  most  touching. 
"  On  such  a  night,  in  times  past,"  Herbert  thinks,  "  gay 
boating  parties  have  put  out  from  the  water  stairs  there 
below ;  or  the  host  and  his  guests  come  spurring  in 
from  a  moonlight  ride."  Herbert  goes  back  through  the 
dusk,  over  the  wreck.  He  feels  as  if  he  had  committed 
an  indelicacy,  in  penetrating  into  these  spacious  halls  ; 
and,  were  he  confronted  now,  in  the  gloom,  by  some 
indignant  figure,  stepping  out  from  an  unsearched  re- 
treat, he  feels  that  his  apology  would  be  stammering 
and  unsatisfactory. 

Pausing  on  the  steps,  again  he  gives  way  to  reflec- 
tion. "  How  can  I  do  otherwise  than  entertain  sympa- 
thy and  pity  toward  the  old  masters  of  these  devastated 
homes  ?  Their  piety,  their  evident  refinement,  —  what 
proofs  I  have  seen  of  these  in  this  sad  excursion  !  works 
of  devotion,  of  the  choicest  poetry,  the  most  refining 

9* 


202  THE    THINKIXG   BAYONET. 

literature  in  various  tongues,  music,  and  art ! "  But 
there  comes  into  his  mind,  too,  the  thought  of  the 
negro,  who,  making  his  way  through  the  country,  that 
very  morning  has  joined  the  federal  line  of  march,  near 
their  regiment ;  whose  back,  from  neck  to  haunch,  is 
scored  and  cut  by  whippings  frequently  given,  so  that 
he  cannot  bend  his  body,  through  fear  of  tearing  open 
the  wales  and  ridges.  The  thought,  too,  of  what  he 
has  also  seen,  —  the  examination  by  surgeons  of  strong 
young  blacks  needed  as  soldiers,  —  when,  often  and 
often,  as  they  stripped,  there  came  to  light  upon  the 
frame  some  deep  unsoundness,  an  ill-set  fracture,  pro- 
duced by  a  heavy  blow  of  the  paddle  ;  a  stiffened  arm, 
where  the  sinews  had  been  cut  by  the  knife,  in  the 
hands  of  some  angry  overseer ;  or  a  thigh,  lacerated  by 
the  teeth  of  hounds.  Even  while  he  stands,  the  ne- 
groes pass  to  and  fro  in  the  street,  singly,  or  in  little 
knots ;  the  other  day,  slaves  in  these  rich  houses, 
now  their  own  masters.  It  is  only  moonlight ;  and  yet 
Herbert  can  see  how  seldom  it  is  among  these  family 
and  house  servants,  that  any  are  of  the  pure  African 
color  or  feature.  Nubian  and  Saxon  are  blended  in 
many  a  face  and  figure.  Here,  beneath  the  flat  nose, 
lies  the  mouth  whose  lines  are  Caucasian.  Above 
brows  almost  white,  the  hair  hangs  with  an  Ethiopian 
curl.  What  a  tale  of  corruption  can  be  read  there  ! 
this  hybrid  product,  the  two  races  thus  adulterously 
blending ! 

Herbert  remembers  what  he  has  heard  at  New  Or- 
leans,  about  the  great,   granite  Custom-House  which 


CYPRESS   BAYOU. 


203 


they  have  sought  to  raise.  The  walls  have  been  built 
high,  and  made  beautiful  with  mouldings  and  carved 
stones;  but  the  work  has  ceased  in  the  middle, —no 
cornice  above  the  pHlars,  no  roof  above  the  whole. 
They  said  it  was  out  of  the  question  that  these  should 
be  added ;  for  the  builders  found  that  the  structure  was 
beginning  to  sink  into  the  soil  upon  which  it  stood,  so 
sapped,  and,  as  it  were,  emasculated  was  the  earth,  by 
the  penetration  of  water  from  the  Mississippi.  The 
building  is  a  type,  Herbert  thinks,  of  the  civilization 
that  flourished  about  it, —in  some  degree  beautiful, 
Christian  indeed,  but  utterly  incomplete;  necessarily 
incomplete,  from  the  corruption  and  weakness  in  the 
society  where  it  stood. 

Herbert's  purpose  is  not  broken,  though  he  mourns 
over  the  rapine.  The  words  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Milton  come  into  his  mind,  which  he  had  quoted  in  his 
letter  to  Putnam  :  "  War  doth  indeed  appear  to  the 
misjudging  to  be  a  worse  calamity  than  slavery ;  be 
cause  its  miseries  are  collected  together  within  a  short 
space  and  time,  and  may  easily,  at  one  view,  be  taken 
in  and  perceived.  But  the  misfortunes  of  nations 
cursed  by  slavery,  being  distributed  over  many  centu- 
ries and  many  places,  are  of  greater  weight  and 
number." 

"Infinitely  of  greater  weight  and  number,"  thinks 
Herbert.  "  This  devastation  is  but  for  the  time.  In  a 
decade,  probably,  it  will  be  fast  disappearing ;  and,  by 
the  time  a  score  of  years  has  passed,  with  God's  help, 
we  shall  have  something  far  nobler  than  this  imperfect 


204  THE    THINKIXG  BAYONET. 

social  order,  here  in  its  place.  But  slavery  unopposed 
would  curse  for  ages,  —  the  curse  constantly  becoming 
deeper  and  more  irremediable." 

Herbert  makes  his  way  to  where  the  tired  army 
sleeps.  Fatigued  himself,  it  is  only  the  interesting 
locality  that  has  called  him  out.  On  the  bare  earth, 
side  by  side  with  Pat,  he  closes  his  eyes  upon  the 
heavens  overhead ;   the  only  tent  he  needs. 

Here  is  another  of  Herbert's  excursions,  when,  once 
after  a  halt  in  the  country,  he  has  life  enough  to  leave  the 
camp,  and  look  about.  For  a  furlong  perhaps,  straight 
from  the  road,  canopied  above,  turfy  beneath,  a  stately 
avenue  leads  up  to  the  portals  of  a  mansion.  He  goes 
up  the  avenue.  The  portico  commands  a  vista,  col- 
umned by  stately  trunks,  overhung  by  live-oak  foliage, 
and  on  either  side  lie  beds  of  flowers.  It  is  most  beau- 
tiful as  he  leaves  the  road,  and  walks  slowly  up  the  path 
of  shells  within  the  turfy  border,  the  green  arch  over- 
head groined  by  the  great  branches  ;  the  southern  sky, 
where  it  shows  through,  lined  and  dotted  with  cloud,  lit 
up  with  sunset  light :  the  ceiling  of  some  great  temple, 
by  some  mighty  hand  frescoed  with  arabesques.  From 
a  distance,  the  house  looks  most  tasteful  and  elegant ; 
white,  with  green  blinds  and  a  noble  portico  :  but,  as 
Herbert  comes  nearer,  he  finds  that,  as  usual,  roughness 
and  dilapidation  lie  together  with  richness  and  finish. 
Broad  to  the  outward  air  and  light  are  flung  the  portals 
of  the  mansion.  Negro  cliildren  swarm  on  the  stair- 
case, in  the  basement,  beneath  the  shrubs  in  front ;  and 
Herbert  finds  a  colony  of  happy  blacks  established  in 


CYPRESS    BAYOU.  205 

every  saloon  and  parlor.  Echo  and  Pomp  dance  the 
juba  in  their  late  master's  quiet  library,  and  Phillis 
cooks  hoe-cake  in  the  boudoir.  Negroes  from  the 
country  about  have  come  here  in  considerable  numbers, 
so  that  the  original  force  of  the  plantation  is  largely 
increased. 

Passing  from  end  to  end  of  the  house,  finding  affable 
blacks  perfectly  at  home,  and  hospitable  everywhere, 
Herbert  descends  a  stairway  in  the  rear,  into  a  grove 
of  orange-trees,  whose  glossy  living  emerald  ought  to 
be  set  off  by  the  golden  fruit ;  but  that  has  just  been 
taken  by  a  party  of  foragers.  A  foot-path  winds  west- 
ward under  stately  trees  again,  over  a  swell,  then 
through  a  little  quiet  valley  ;  a  picturesque,  secluded  walk 
leading  to  a  group  of  negro  huts.  Herbert  follows  the 
path,  and  mingles  with  the  negroes.  The  men  touch 
their  tattered  hats  with  painful  cringing,  and  make  no 
protest  against  Herbert's  entering  the  huts,  if  he  chooses, 
or  counting  the  poultry,  or  leaning  over  the  sty  to  look 
at  the  pigs  ;  though,  for  all  they  know,  he  may  be  no 
better  than  the  lawless  men,  who,  a  few  minutes  before, 
coming  from  the  camp,  levied  rough  contributions  upon 
their  possessions. 

Herbert  looks  about  him,  but  with  the  delicacy 'of  a 
gentleman ;  talking  good-naturedly  with  men  and  wo- 
men ;  making  note  of  the  want  of  self-respect  betrayed 
in  the  manner  of  so  many.  At  length  he  returns  to- 
ward the  house.  An  old  gray-headed  man  stands  on 
the  steps.  "Uncle,  where  did  you  come  fi'om?" 
"  Come   from   Africa,  massa ; "  then   he  pours    out  a 


206  THE  THINKING  BAYONET. 

stream  of  half-intelligible  sounds,  out  of  which  Herbert 
can  only  gather,  that  this  old  man,  in  his  childhood, 
knew  the  tiger  and  serpent  haunted  jungles  of  Soudan 
or  Guinea ;  underwent  the  middle  passage ;  has  be- 
come crooked  and  rheumatic  with  heavy  enforced  labor, 
but  survived  to  receive  his  freedom  again  before  he 
dies. 

Herbert  looks  off,  through  the  afternoon  light,  at  a 
bayou  not  far  away,  and  the  tall  cypresses  on  the  shore 
beyond.  The  branches  of  some  of  them,  putting  out 
from  the  trunk,  bend  upward.  The  tops  of  the  encir- 
cling boughs,  in  many  cases,  surround  the  central  tuft, 
as  the  branches  of  a  candlestick  are  ranged  on  either 
side  of  the  central  socket.  In  these  dark  candelabra  of 
the  fen,  however,  no  light  ever  shines,  except  perhaps 
some  ghastly  will-o'-the-wisp.  Herbert,  at  length,  re- 
enters the  house,  and  ascends  to  an  upper  room.  It  is 
vacant.  It  is  plain,  that  once  it  has  been  used  as  a 
library.  Book-cases  are  fitted  into  the  walls,  and  the 
floor  is  strewn  with  the  books,  heaped  up  in  utter  dis- 
order. .  Among  the  rubbish  lies  an  elegant  desk,  whose 
lock  has  been  rudely  broken.  It  lies  open.  Within  it, 
too,  is  a  little  case,  open,  —  such  as  might  be  used  for 
preserving  jewels  or  valuable  relics.  It  so  happens 
that  Herbert's  eye  falls  upon  this,  and  a  little  handful 
of  withered  flowers  which  the  case  contains.  He  stoops 
t*  see  what  is  vrritten  upon  the  slip  of  paper  bound 
around  their  stems.  Lo !  this  is  the  inscription,  — 
"  Class-day  at  Havenbridge  ;  "  then  follows  the  year  in 
which  Herbert  himself  had  graduated.     Becoming  eager 


CYPRESS  BAYOU.  207 

now,  he  seizes  the  case,  causing  the  lid  to  fall.  There, 
stamped  in  gilt  upon  the  leather,  is  the  name  "  Claiborne 
De  Treville." 

Claiborne's  flowers  !  those  which  he  held  in  his  hand 
when  they  parted  at  the  end  of  their  youth  !  As  Her- 
bert's eye  again  falls  upon  the  desk,  he  sees  his  own 
handwriting  ;  and,  hastily  taking  up  the  paper,  he  finds 
that  this  is  indeed  his  last  letter  to  Claiborne,  narrating 
the  share  he  had  taken  in  the  riot,  and  his  meeting  with 
Leonora  in  her  father's  hall.  Bewildered  with  his  sur- 
prise, he  turns  toward  the  window,  looking  out  upon 
the  yellow  stagnant  stream,  with  the  tall  dark  trees,  — 
Cypress  Bayou  !  Herbert  takes  up  books.  Upon  the 
fly-leaf  of  each  is  Claiborne's  name.  In  this  strange 
way,  uninvited,  he  has  come  to  the  home  of  his  friend. 
With  heart  full  of  melancholy,  he  stands  among  these 
memorials  ;  holding  in  his  hands  the  books  which  bear 
evidence  of  Claiborne's  study ;  looking  at  the  broken 
desk,  with  velvet  worn,  and  wood- work  blotted  with  ink 
from  his  pen.     It  is  dusk  when  he  turns  away  at  last. 

Passing  along  the  hall  outside  the  room,  he  reaches  a 
door  which  stands  ajar.  Looking  in,  he  sees  a  female 
figure,  sitting  quietly  upon  the  hearth,  with  face  turned 
towards  a  fire.  Her  hands  are  upon  her  knees,  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  coals ;  her  head  does  not  move. 
She  sits  motionless  as  an  effigy  or  a  corpse  propped 
into  a  sitting  posture.  Herbert  pushes  the  door  open, 
and  steps  inside.  There  is  no  movement  at  the  noise, 
and  he  stands  awed  at  the  fixedness  of  the  attitude,  and 
the  perfect  stillness.     The  thought  passes  through  his 


208  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

miild,  that  he  may  be  disturbing  some  act  of  devotion ; 
"or,  perhaps,"  he  thinks,  "it  is  an  attitude  assumed  by 
some  broken-hearted,  desperate  person,  as  she  broods 
over  her  miseries."  There  is  something  most  weird  and 
witch-like  in  the  figure,  soUtary  in  tlie  room,  in  the 
gathering  gloom,  and  so  motionless  ;  just  touched,  by 
the  faint  flush  from  the  embers  in  front,  along  the  fea- 
tures and  arms.  After  a  few  moments'  hesitation, 
Herbert  goes  forward  to  the  fire,  and  seats  himself  near 
the  woman.  He  is  burning  to  know  more  of  Claiborne, 
and  would  rather  hear  about  him  in  quiet,  than  from  the 
crowd  of  negroes  below.  As  he  comes  to  see  the  wo- 
man's face,  it  appears  that  her  skin  is  quite  light,  and 
features  Caucasian.  She  says  nothing,  as  Herbert  takes 
his  place  opposite  ;  only  moves  her  seat  to  be  at  a  greater 
distance.  He  tries  to  re-assure  her  in  a  few  words ; 
then  tells  of  his  interest  in  Claiborne,  of  his  former 
acquaintance  and  friendship,  and  desire  to  know  of 
Claiborne's  present  whereabouts.  As  Herbert  tells  his 
story,  the  rigidity  of  the  woman's  face  relaxes.  When 
she  speaks  at  last,  it  is  with  the  accent  and  language  of 
a  person  of  some  refinement.  Claiborne  has  been  in 
the  Southern  army  ever  since  his  return.  His  father 
has  died.  The  agent  forsook  the  place,  on  the  approach 
of  the  Federal  troops  ;  and  the  negroes  have  had  their 
own  way  since. 

As  she  tells  the  story,  the  door  again  opens,  and  a 
young  boy  enters.  At  sight  of  the  stranger,  the  child 
draws  close  to  the  side  of  the  woman.  His  skin  is  as 
light  as  that  of  a  white   child.     Herbert  starts  as  he 


CYPRESS    BAYOU.  209 

looks  at  the  eyes,,  and  the  curve  of  the  nose,  already 
giving  sign  of  spirit  and  power.  The  woman  notices 
the  movement,  and  says,  with  the  rigid  look  of  despair 
again  settling  upon  her  face,  "  My  boy ;  mine  and  Clai- 
borne's I  "  Then  Claiborne's  mistress,  while  the  gloom 
grows  deeper,  tells  her  story :  that  she  herself  is  the 
child  of  a  De  Treville,  —  a  brother  of  Claiborne's  father  ; 
that  her  mother  was  a  slave ;  that  she  had  lived  a 
slave,  in  the  family  of  her  kindred,  full  of  the  pride  and 
sense  of  honor  of  her  paternal  stock, — yet  there  had 
been  no  refuge  for  her,  when  her  young  master  and 
kinsman  had  looked  upon  her  with  ungoverned  eyes. 
Her  past  was  full  of  wretchedness  ;  she  had  no  hope  for 
the  future.  Herbert's  gentle  tone  and  interest  in  those, 
who,  while  they  had  wronged  her,  were  yet  of  her  own 
blood,  had  won  her  confidence.  Darkness  comes  apace. 
Throuo:h  the  loose  windows  comes  the  sound  of  tKe 
evening  drums  from  the  camps  not  far  oiF.  It  is  time 
for  the  soldier  to  return ;  so,  through  the  dark,  with 
heart  full  of  sorrow  he  slowly  walks,  and,  on  the  mor- 
row, has  left  far  behind  this  pathos  and  despair. 

Battle  at  last.  'Tis  a  great  army  ;  and,  at  nightfall, 
it  camps  in  ploughed  fields.  The  soldier,  under  his 
shelter-tent,  or  stretched  without  cover  along  the  ridge 
of  a  furrow  to  be  on  the  highest  and  dryest  ground  in 
case  of  a  rain,  shouts  a  joke  through  the  dark  ;  then  ad- 
justs his  piece  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm  before  he  goes 
to  sleep.  The  army  camps  there,  and  upon  the  summits 
of  ridges,  among  trees,  — rude  roads  being  hastily  cut, 
and  artillery  wheeled  up  to  positions  through  the  stumps, 


210  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

the  axles  hardly  clearing  the  obstructions.  The  battery- 
men  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  after  smoking  their  pipes, 
lie  down  by  the  horses,  tall  and  stout,  in  their  red  blan- 
kets. The  army  camps,  too,  in  ravines  ;  tired  men,  lying 
in  long  rows  in  the  sand,  in  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  tor- 
rent, getting  up  with  limps  and  growls  to  let  a  body  of 
cavalry  go  past,  who  rattle  by  at  the  heels  of  a  colonel. 
The  capes  and  braidings  upon  the  officer's  dark  overcoat 
show  out  when  he  trots  past  a  little  gap,  through  which 
the  starlight  comes  down  into  the  gulf.  "  Boom,"  from 
far  away ;  "  boom,"  now  and  then,  from  near  at  hand  ; 
"crack,  crack,"  from  the  rifles  of  the  pickets.  So  it  is 
at  night ;  for  friend  and  foe,  on  the  opposite  sides  of 
hills,  at  the  opposite  ends  of  fields,  just  across  the  brook 
from  one  another,  alike  belted  and  weaponed,  soiled  and 
wearied,  lie  under  the  same  canopy,  waiting  for  day- 
break. 

Now,  it  is  nearly  time.  Enoch  Felt,  Yankee  black- 
smith, now  corporal  of  cavalry,  hears  a  rustle  in  the 
woods  in  front ;  then  a  sudden  crack  and  whiz  past  his 
ear.  Five  carbines  flash  in  return  their  sudden  spouts 
of  sparkling  fire  from  his  squad ;  then  the  videttes 
canter  back  with  word  that  the  enemy  is  in  mo- 
tion. 

A  sound  of  galloping  hoofs,  far  away,  coming  nearer  : 
so  remarks  Manly  Wilde,  on  picket  under  the  gum- 
tree.  With  gun  aport,  starting  up  from  leaning  with 
back  to  the  tree,  he  calls  low  to  the  two  sleeping  men, 
lying  snoring,  with  heads  pillowed  on  gnarled  roots. 
Now  the  tramp  of  a  line  of  men  ;  three  guns,  one  after 


CYPRESS    BAYOU.  211 

the  other,  sharp  and  clear  in  the  night ;  then  back  upon 
the  reserve.  Forward  the  enemy  come,  here  too  ;  the 
woods  snapping  and  rustling  before  the  lines,  as  they 
pour  after ;  the  foot  of  an  Arkansas  rifleman  sinking 
into  the  ashes  where  Manly  last  night  made  his  coffee. 

A  sudden  deep  boom,  then  the  whish-whish  of  a  shell, 
a  burst  overhead  ;  then  a  pause,  while  crash  through  the 
limbs  come  the  fragments  of  iron.  "  Whisht,  Biddy  ! 
what  mad  ye  spake  so  airly,"  says  Pat  Flanagan,  rising 
from  sleep  on  to  one  elbow,  and  rubbing  his  eyes. 
"  Och  !  it's  at  the  bloudy  war-r  I  am,"  as  he  pretends  to 
recover  his  senses.  "Hurry  up  !  "  says  Zur  Hanscom, 
whose  turn  it  is  on  guard,  "  they're  comin'  sure ;  I 
heern  a  captain,  just  now,  dressin'  up  his  company." 
"  Bedad  !  "  says  Pat,  "  but  afore  I  lave,  I'll  fill  me  ould 
kittle  here  at  the  spring  in  the  hollow  beyant.  iSTiver  a 
rib  '11  kape  me  from  that  now!  "  So  Pat  climbs  out  in 
front  of  the  post,  slipping  down  the  bank  among  the 
moss  and  dry  leaves  to  the  flat  stones  by  the  spring. 
"  Click  !  "  among  the  bushes  above.  It  is  gray  now,  and 
the  rebel  skirmish  line  is  hurrying  forward.  A  Missis- 
sippi corporal  cocks  his  piece,  and,  in  a  moment,  poor 
Pat  has  the  bullet.  He  tumbles  his  leno^th  alonor  the 
rocks,  badly  wounded. 

And  so  comes  forward  the  enemy's  line.  For  miles 
and  miles,  in  woods  and  fields,  along  slopes  and  the 
banks  of  solitary  creeks,  through  the  smouldering  vil- 
lage, obscure,  now  destroyed,  but  about  to  leave  its 
name  to  history  as  the  designation  of  this  battle  just 
beginning;    out   of   the  woods,   and  quickly  over  the 


212  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

cleared  plain  by  the  plantation, — for  miles  and  miles, 
hoof-beats,  rumbling  wheels,  the  tearing  of  shell,  the 
rattling  staccato  of  the  fusillade.  Little  beyond  the 
situation  of  his  own  division,  knows  Gen.  Holyoake. 
Last  night,  the  corps  commander,  grave  and  quiet,  with 
no  sword  or  pistol ;  only  a  field-glass  slung  over  his 
shoulder,  the  strap  passing  among  the  buttons  (buttons 
in  groups  of  three,  the  insignia  of  the  Major-General, 
—  upon  which  Holyoake  looks  with  some  envy,  even 
while  he  receives  the  orders  for  the  following  day,  and 
reports  concerning  his  own  brave  brigades) ,  — last  night, 
the  corps  commander,  grave  and  quiet,  assigned  him  his 
duty  and  place.  These  regiments,  therefore,  maintain 
this  slope  behind  the  breastwork  thrown  up  in  the  night ; 
these  lie  here  unseen,  amonof  the  leaves  at  the  edofe  of 
the  wood.  Here  batteries  sweep  forward  into  your  ter- 
rible line  before  the  gap  between  those  opposing  ridges, 
through  which,  no  doubt,  the  foe  must  pour  ;  and  these 
regiments  for  a  support  to  the  guns.  Throughout  the 
day,  Holyoake  knows  only  vaguely  what  happens  be- 
yond the  space  in  which  his  four  or  five  thousand  are 
posted.  In  the  lull,  now  and  then,  of  his  own  can- 
nonading, comes  in  the  roar  from  one  side  and  the  other  ; 
but  he  sits  upon  his  horse,  intent  upon  his  special  work. 
Still  less  knows  Herbert  Lee,  at  his  place  in  the 
battle-line.  He  only  knows  what  happens  in  the  little 
acre  upon  which  he  stands  of  that  great  field.  As  day 
breaks,  in  come  pickets  and  videttes.  The  regiment 
springs  from  sleep  into  hne  of  battle,  as  across  the  fields 
in  its  front,  beyond  the  deep  furrows  where  cotton  has 


CYPRESS   BAYOU.  213 

once  been  planted,  —  the  dry  stalks  standing  here  and 
there, — they  see  the  advancing  line  of  rebels.  Then 
the  vapor  from  the  battery  shuts  it  out ;  shuts  out  the 
distant,  shuts  out  at  last  the  near  view  on  that  side,  so 
rapidly  discharging ;  until,  at  last,  all  Herbert  can  see 
close  by  is  the  man,  who,  every  few  moments,  behind 
the  nearest  gun,  jerks  the  lanyard;  but  he  knows  the 
enemy  are  there,  from  the  scream  and  hiss  of  shells, 
and  the  drone  and  "  isp  "  of  the  balls.  A  puff  of  wind, 
and  the  smoke  lifts.  Still  there,  and  coming  nearer, 
brown  and  gray  clad  men  in  a  line,  with  many  gaps  in 
it,  but  holding  forward. 

Musketry  is  in  order;  so  five  hundred  minie-balls 
presently  from  the  regiment  break  out  of  rifle-muzzles, 
and  sing  across  the  field  toward  the  enemy's  line ;  and 
again  and  again,  and  it  is  take  as  well  as  give.  Her- 
bert feels  the  rush  of  something  passing  his  head  incon- 
ceivably quick,  with  a  sharp,  bitter  sound.  Down  upon 
neck  and  shirt,  trickles  the  blood ;  but  he  feels  no  weak- 
ness, and  gives  it  no  heed  for  a  time.  It  is  only  part 
of  his  ear  that  is  gone. 

Forward  toward  the  spot  comes  Gen.  Holyoake.  His 
horse  leaps  into  the  air,  and  falls  with  a  bullet  in  his 
neck  ;  but  his  rider>  has  disentangled  himself,  and  comes 
forward  on  foot.  "  Steady,  men,  with  your  volleys. 
Colonel,  the  fate  of  these  pieces  is  in  your  keeping.  It 
is  bravely  done ;  "  and  the  general  goes  forward  to  a 
hard-pushed  brigade  still  beyond.  A  puff  of  wind 
spreads  out  the  silk  of  the  great  flag.  A  shell  takes 
out  part  of  the  stars,  and  the  stripes  are  perforated  here 


214  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

and  there  by  the  balls.  Carefully,  Herbert,  as  your 
piece  comes  down  to  be  loaded  !  A  dead  man,  see,  is 
at  your  side ;  and  one  with  a  bleeding  thigh  tries  to 
stand,  but  cripples  down  presently  just  behind.  "Save 
the  battery ;  maintain  the  line  !  when  we  have  rolled 
them  back,  then  for  the  wounded." 

Hear  the  shouts  of  the  rebel  captains,  trying  to  hold 
the  men  to  the  charge  ;  but  now  they  fall  back  hurriedly, 
—  first  wavering ;  then  a  straggler  or  two,  who  rush 
past  the  file-closers ;  then  more,  then  more  still,  until 
here  and  there  are  brave  ones  almost  by  themselves ; 
and,  at  last,  all  have  sought  the  woods.  Herbert  stands 
hot  with  the  exertion,  black  from  burnt  powder, 
bloody  with  his  wounded  ear,  upon  the  trampled  field ; 
leaning  upon  his  hot  gun,  and  inhaling  with  deep 
breaths  the  purer  air,  which  comes,  now  that  the  smoke 
has  blo.wn  away. 

Toward  nightfall,  unwashed  and  hardly  fed,  Herbert 
stands  again  on  the  field.  Holyoake's  division  has  not 
gone  forward  in  the  pursuit.  The  ambulance-men  have 
done  their  work.  All  day,  since  the  morning,  upon 
bloody  stretchers  they  have  carried  the  wounded  to  the 
hospitals  close  at  hand,  where  surgeons,  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves, bloody  to  the  elbows,  go  from  man  to  man. 
Pat,  about  whom  the  enemy  poured  in  their  advance, 
then  again  in  their  retreat,  leaving  him  wounded  and 
helpless,  is  brought  in  at  last  among  his  friends.  The 
dead  are  gathered  in  heaps  from  among  the  furrows 
where  they  have  fallen ;  leaving  the  ground  trodden, 
strewn  with  bloody  shreds   of   garments,   and    broken 


CYPRESS   BAYOU.  215 

arms.  A  pit  has  been  dug  by  negroes,  to  be  the  grave 
of  some  seventy  rebels,  just  collected  from  the  field, 
and  lying  together  in  a  row  upon  the  brown  earth  freshly 
turned.  Upon  the  brink  of  the  pit  stands  the  sergeant ; 
upon  the  other  side  stands  Gordon  Holyoake,  his  horse 
held  by  an  orderly  some  paces  behind,  a  young  captain 
of  his  stafi*  in  his  company.  They  stand  opposite  one 
another  while  the  sun  is  setting,  face  to  face  ;  the  corses 
already  blackening  close  at  hand.  Holyoake  looks 
toward  Herbert  with  earnest,  searching  eyes,  which 
presently  fall  as  the  look  is  calmly  returned.  Does  he 
know  or  suspect?  Certainly,  in  the  figure  so  broad 
and  bearded,  disguised  still  more  by  the  bandage  in 
which  the  wounded  ear  is  wrapped,  and  the  torn  and 
bloody  uniform,  it  would  be  hard  for  any  one  to  recognize 
the  scholar  of  Havenbridge.  "  Sergeant,"  says  the  Gen- 
eral, "  will  you  attend  to  the  burial  of  these  men  ?  Here 
are  prisoners,  who,  perhaps,  can  help  you  to  their  names. 
We  desire  to  preserve  the  names,  if  we  can."  Herbert 
gives  the  military  salute,  and  takes  his  post  by  the  row 
of  corpses.  Holyoake  turns  away  quickly,  wraps  his 
cloak  about  him,  — for  the  damps  of  the  evening  begin 
to  arise  cool  and  penetrating,  —  then  turns  away. 
Through  the  hot,  tainted  air,  by  and  by  comes  the  moon- 
light, and  Herbert  is  still  at  his  work. 


216  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE     NURSE. 


From  Putnam  May  to  Miss  Louisa  May. 

"  Once  more  at  home,  —  sad,  because  the  errand 
on  which  I  have  been  absent  has  failed.  Herbert  is 
still  lost;  and  though  I  give  time  and  means  to  find 
him  out,  —  though  I  am  ready  to  drop  every  thing,  to  go 
to  him  with  the  good  cheer  I  know  I  can  carry  to  him, 
yet  I  know  not  where  to  go.  If  a  clew  is  put  into  my 
hands,  as  sure  as  I  begin  to  follow  it,  it  comes  to  noth- 
ing. I  do  not  know  what  I  can  do  but  keep  trying, 
with  the  hope  of  coming  upon  him  at  last.  There  was 
my  sudden  expedition  to  Castleton.  It  was  sad  enough 
to  be  so  close  upon  him,  and  yet  find  him  gone.  The 
superintendent  of  the  mine,  and  the  miners  themselves, 
all  stood  around  me  silent,  to  hear  my  account ;  but 
Herbert  had  gone,  leaving  behind  him  no  trace.  So 
far  as  I  could  discover,  there  was  no  soul  to  whom  he 
had  dropped  a  hint  of  his  plans.  Pat  Flanagan  and 
he  had  suddenly  disappeared  together :  that  was  all 
that  any  one  knew.  The  letters  that  I  have  received 
from  Herbei't  since,  have  been  mailed  in  Northern 
cities.     One,  received  not  long  ago,  was  sad  enough. 


THE   NUKSE.  217 

The  poor  fellow  now  yearns  for  diiferent  companion- 
ship, and  tells  me  very  plainly  how  his  heart  is 
suffering  over  Leonora.  He  would  make  his  where- 
abouts known,  if  only  *  it  would  help  him  in  any  way 
to  be  manly.'  Oh !  it  would  help  him.  No  one 
would  doubt  about  him  now ;  but  all  true  and  noble 
men  would  be  ready  to  take  him  to  their  hearts.  When 
you  have  read  this  letter,  you  will  see  how  quickly  I 
could  dispel  the  chief  cause  of  his  misery,  if  I  could 
only  see  him. 

"  A  fortnight  or  so  ago,  there  came  to  my  door 
here  one  of  our  honest  farmers.  When  I  first  knew 
him,  he  was  a  bright,  cheerful  man,  living  on  a  pleas- 
ant terrace,  lifted  up  a  few  yards  above  the  meadow, 
with  the  river  in  front,  and  his  sugar-orchard  and 
pastures  on  the  hills  behind.  He  had  then  three  sons  ; 
all  of  whom  I  knew,  and  all  of  whom  enlisted.  One 
went  from  our  high  school,  where  he  was  nearly  ready 
for  college ;  one  went  from  the  farm ;  the  other 
went  from  the  West,  where  he  had  gone  to  live.  The 
eldest  received  a  bullet  through  the  heart,  while  on 
picket  in  Virginia ;  the  youngest  was  blown  in  pieces 
by  a  shell.  He  belonged  to  a  battery,  —  a  laughing 
boy.  They  say,  in  the  midst  of  the  battle  he  was  jok- 
ing, with  a  laugh  on  his  face,  when  the  missile  came 
which  annihilated  him.  The  third  son  now  has  been 
badly  wounded,  and  lies  in  a  critical  condition.  The 
father  is  almost  broken-hearted ;  and  a  *more  pathetic 
object  you  can  hardly  find,  than  that  poor  man  when 
he  touched  my  bell  the  other  day,  and  came  in  to  tell 

10 


218  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

me  the  news  «ibout  Eldred.  His  cheek  was  thin  and 
sallow.  He  spoke  mournfully  of  these  dead  sons ; 
and,  as  he  talked,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Gone 
entirely  was  the  smile  which  was  always  upon  his  face, 
when  I  first  knew  him.  He  had  grown  careless  in  his 
dress ;  his  coat  was  out  at  the  elbows ;  the  hat  was 
faded,  —  band  and  crown,  —  and  the  brim  was  limp. 
'I  am  old,'  he  said.  ^I  only  tried  to  keep  up  the  place 
for  the  boys  ;  now  two  are  gone,  and  the  third  likely  to 
go.  What  is  there  for  me  to  care  for?  I  am  going 
to  see  Eldred.     If  he  dies  too,  my  heart  will  break.' 

"  I  could  say  nothing  to  him.  I  silently  took  the 
letter  which  he  handed  me,  and  read.  Eldred  had 
written  the  few  lines  -vUiich  it  contained,  evidently  with 
great  difficulty.  It  was  simply  that  he  had  received  a 
bad  hurt  in  the  chest.  He  suffered  much  pain,  and  the 
doctor  was  doubtful  how  it  might  turn.  Then  came 
the  passage  that  enchained  me.  'Did  his  father  re- 
member Herbert  Lee,  that  was  wild,  and  sent  up  to 
Meadowboro'  to  be  witli  old  IVIr.  Wells  ?  —  the  one  that 
used  to  like  to  have  his  company  so  often  in  hunting  ? ' 
Eldred  went  on  to  say,  that  as  he  lay  on  the  field,  after 
the  battle  was  over,  neglected  by  the  ambulance-men 
who  were  carrying  off"  the  wounded,  a  sergeant  came 
and  helped  him  ;  that  he  thought  it  Avas  Herbert  Lee, 
although  he  was  much  changed  in  looks ;  that  he  gave 
him  care,  and  had  him  brought  off"  the  field,  thereby 
perhaps  saving  his  life.  Eldred  went  on  to  say,  that 
Herbert  went  now  by  another  name  ;  *  for  he  hushed 
him  up,  when  he  called  him  Herbert.'     Tlie  letter  was 


THE    NUKSE.  219 

very  brief;  Eldred  saying  at  the  end,  that  he  was  badly 
off,  but  that  he  could  not  be  easy  without  sending  a  few 
words  to  his  father. 

"  I  jumped  to  my  feet,  and  called  Alice.  I  told  her 
briefly,  that  I  had  come  upon  another  trace  of  Herbert, 
and  must  follow  it  up.  Probably  Eldred  could  give 
me  Herbert's  assumed  name,  and  perhaps  the  organiza- 
tion to  whicji  he  belonged.  Alice  urged  my  poor 
health,  the  severity  of  the  weather,  and  the  danger  of 
exposure  among  crowded  hospitals  ;  but  I  could  not 
wait :  so,  in  the  afternoon,  this  poor  friend  of  mine  and 
I  set  out  on  our  Southern  journey.  I  will  tell  you, 
sometime,  all  that  I  saw ;  but  now  I  will  pass  over 
every  thing  not  connected  with  this  special  matter. 

"  We  found  Eldred  still  living,  but  scarcely  rational ; 
stretched  on  his  comfortable  pallet,  in  the  long,  high, 
many- windowed  room.  Yery  pale  he  Avas  from  loss  of 
blood,  very  thin  from  suffering,  —  the  stout  young 
farmer  I  had  known.  The  black  hair  was  wet  upon 
his  })illow,  —  sopped  with  cold  water,  to  give  his  head 
comfort  in  the  days  and  nights.;  and  drops,  coming 
down  upon  his  face,  lay  side  by  side  with  the  beads  of 
clammy  sweat  that  oozed  from  the  emaciated  forehead, 
and  the  hollows  where  had  been  the  cheeks.  He  was 
near  to  death.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose,  in 
making  my  inquiry ;  but,  pressing  as  I  felt  the  case  to 
be,  I  could  not  thrust  aside  the  father,  who  knelt  with 
his  face  buried  in  the  pillow  of  this  his  last  son,  hold- 
ing in  his  hand  the  hand  of  the  young  man,  even  now 
unnaturally  cold.     When,  at  last,  I  did  speak,  it  was 


220  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

too  late.  I  bent  over  liim  ;  called  him  by  uanie  ;  briefly 
as  I  could,  asked  my  question ;  tried  to  make  it  plain 
to  his  fast-departing  mind.  '  He  took  care' of  you,  you 
know,  poor  boy,  —  your  old  mate,  —  what  do  they 
call  him?'  But  it  was  too  late.  The  fihny  eyps 
opened  at  my  voice ;  but  there  was  no  mtelligence  in 
their  ghastly  stare.  Hard  through  the  white,  wasted 
nostrils,  rattled  the  breath,  and  the  shaking  lips  shriv- 
elled away  above  the  teeth,  as  if  there  were  terrible 
heat  there  that  burnt  them.  He  could  not  tell.  I  said 
no  more;  for  it  seemed  hardly  proper  to  harass  a 
departing  soul  with  queries,  even  when  I  felt  that  the 
happiness  of  a  living  being  was  so  concerned. 

"  I  sat  by  his  pallet,  liolding  his  hands,  and  adjusting 
the  sheet.  In  an  hour  he  died.  It  was  terrible  to  me. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  come  face  to  face  with 
any  such  scene.  The  father  sat  pale  almost  as  the 
wasted  young  man,  —  so  stony  and  stolid  by  the  corse. 
I  tried  to  care  for  him,  and  then  went  out  into  the 
streets.  The  city  was  full  of  stir.  Wet  regiments 
were  tramping  over  the  snowy  pavements.  Squads  of 
troops  sat  upon  the  curbstone  at  the  side  of  the  street, 
where  the  wet  snow  was  cleared  away  during  some 
momentary  halt.  I  searched  through  many  ranks  with 
my  eye  to  find  tall,  athletic  men :  then  I  searched 
their  faces ;  but  I  saw  no  Herbert.  Far  and  near, 
through  the  stir,  came  the  sound  of  drums.  I  passed 
them  by  brigades  and  divisions.  Perhap*  he  was  one 
among  all  these  thousands.  How  hopeless  was  my 
search ! 


THE    ^UilSE. 


221 


"  You  know,  Leonora  is  nurse  in  a  hospital.     I  be- 
lieve I  have  not  said,  that  she  was  in  this  very  city. 
Herbert  must  have  been  near  her  many  times.     If  he 
could  only  know  what  it  is  in  my  power  now  to  reveal 
to  him  !     I  hardly  knew  whether  Leonora  would  take 
an  interest  or  not  in  the  object  for  which  I  had  come  so 
far.     You  are  aware  how  once,  when  I  had  resolved  to 
approach  her  upon  the  subject  of  Herbert,  through  her 
mao-nificent  fire  I  was  turned  aside  from  my  purpose. 
I  resolved,   however,   to  go  to  see  her.     It  was  only 
friendly  for  me  to  do  so,  now  that  I  was  so  near  her. 
Tired  and  discouraged,  I  made  my  way  to  the  great 
building  to  which  I  knew  she  was  assigned.     It  was  a 
scene  similar  to  what  I  had  already  witnessed,  although 
there  was  more  order  and  neatness.     I  passed  between 
the  crowded  rows  of  cots,  with  the  clean  bedding,  the 
screens,   and  the  long,   prostrate   shapes.     Sweet  and 
airy  it  was  ;   quiet  too,  except  a  groan  now  and  then 
from  a  pallet  which  a  surgeon  was  visiting,   or  where 
an  attendant  was  moving  a  patient.     In  a  moment,  I 
caught  sight  of  her.      She  Is  younger  than  she  should 
be,  according  to  the  regulation  as  to  nurses  ;   but  so 
intense  was  her  eagerness,  that  her  application  could 
not  be  resisted.     Xot  beautiful, — young  I  say  still; 
but,  nevertheless,  with  the  first  bloom  and  freshness  a 
little    gone    by ;   a    queenly  woman ;   her  old  imperial 
spirit,  so  out  of  relation  and  ill  assorted  in  the  midst 
of  trivial  circumstances,  more  congenially  placed  now, 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  tragedy.     I  used  to  think  her 
harsh,   wilful,  and  rude.     So  she  was  where  flirtation 


222  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

and  light  talk  were  the  order  of  the  day.  It  was  not 
her  2:)lace ;  and  she  was  rough,  as  an  eagle  might  be  in 
a  flock  of  twittering,  chattering  sparrows.  Now  she 
was  more  at  home,  —  calm  and  grand,  —  her  unbroken 
power  toned  down  from  its  old,  hot  impetuousness,  in 
the  midst  of  labors  and  groans ;  a  noble  gravity  upon 
her  broad  forehead  and  in  her  deep  eyes,  a  dignity 
in  her  mien  as  she  moved.  I  can  see  how  such  disci- 
plined and  consecrated  power  as  hers  can  help  a  whole 
hospital.  A  subduing  might,  from  her  imperial,  unself- 
ish womanhood,  goes  out ;  so  that,  as  I  heard  after- 
ward, there  is,  within  the  circle  of  her  influence,  far  less 
of  levity  among  attendants,  and  far  less  of  petulance 
among  patients,  —  the  lightest  souled  learning  earnest- 
ness, the  sufferers  learning  fortitude. 

"  Putting  one  hand  beneath  the  bandaged  head  of  a 
patient,  to  raise  it  while  she  held  a  cooling  draught  to 
his  lips,  she  bent  forward.  As  she  rose  again,  after 
the  head  had  fallen  back  to  its  place,  her  eyes  met 
mine.  I  had  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She 
came  toward  me  quietly,  —  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  — 
with  a  manner  grave,  but  cordial.  I  was  determined 
that  she  should  know  all.  Briefly,  I  stated  that  the 
errand  which  had  brought  me  so  far  from  home  had 
reference  to  Herbert  Lee.  I  meant  to  have  seen  her 
face  clearly,  when  I  spoke  his  name ;  but  the  man  on 
the  pallet  called  querulously  at  the  very  moment,  and, 
through  her  quick  turning,  I  could  not  see  whether 
there  was  any  trace  of  agitation  or  not.  Her  hands 
quietly   smoothed  the  pillow ;    and,   when  she  turned 


THE    NUKSE. 


223 


toward  me  again,  the  countenance  was  calm  as  before. 
It  was  very  quietly  that  she  spoke  at  last.  '  It  was  a 
strange  matter,'  she  said,— 'a  thing  to  sadden  one. 
Had  he  been  heard  from?'  I  said  that  he  had,  and 
she  might  perhaps  be  interested  to  see  the  letters. 
Then  I  gave  her,  in  a  packet,  the  letters  which  I  have 
received°from  him,  from  first  to  last.  She  looked  a 
little  surprised,  as  I  handed  them  to  her ;  but  did  not 
refuse  to  take  them.  Then  she  said,  'I  believe  we 
were  friends.  I  am  interested  to  know  about  him.' 
Then  I  asked  if  there  was  not  some  hour  later  in  tlie 
day,  when  she  would  be  more  at  leisure.  She  men- 
tioned an  hour  in  the  evening,  and  I  took  my  leave. 

"  I  went  to  my  old  friend,  who  had  come  with  me 
from  Meadowboro'.  He  sat  by  the  body  of  his  son, 
broken  by  grief.  I  made  the  arrangements  necessary 
for  bringing  the  body  home.  This  one,  at  least,  of  the 
three,  should  rest  in  the  little  village  burying-ground. 
AYe  lifted  the  frame,  once  so  stalwart,  now  with  the 
skeleton  within  hardly  veiled  by  the  wasted  flesh,  and 
laid  him  reverently  in  his  coffin.  At  the  hour  ap- 
pointed, I  returned  to  Leonora.  I  found  her  sitting  in 
the  httle  room  adjoining  her  ward,  which  belonged  to 
lier  as  the  superintending  nurse.  She  met  me  as 
gravely  and  calmly  as  in  the  morning.  On  the  table 
lay  my  packet  of  letters.  They  had  evidently  been 
opened,  and,  I  judged,  read. 

"In  my  interview  with  her,  before  she  went  as  nurse, 
she  had  refused,  you  know,  to  let  me  speak  of  him  to 
her  ;  but  I  had  clung  to  the  behef,  that  she  might,  after 


224  THE    TIIINKIXG    BAYONET. 

all,  love  liim  still.  1  feared  now  tlmt  I  was  wrong. 
If  she  loved  him,  how  could  she  stand  so  calm,  when 
she  knew  his  sufferings  and  the  depth  of  his  love?  I 
sat  opposite  to  her,  studying  the  figure  eagerly  for  some 
trace  of  agitation.  But  there  was  no  tremor  of  the  un- 
ringed  fingers,  that  I  could  see ;  no  wave  of  the  plain 
gray  garb  to  betoken  inward  agitation.  The  light  fell 
upon  her  face,  so  that  I  saw  every  feature,  and  the  dark 
abundant  hair,  knotted  away  under  the  plain  cap  that 
she  wore.  I  began  earnestly  tor  speak  of  Herbert,  — 
the  persecution  under  which  he  had  fallen,  which  had 
led  to  his  flight.  I  told  the  circumstances,  which  made 
it  so  clear  that  he  had  been  deeply  wronged ;  the  bad 
character  of  Tillenbaugh ;  the  earnest  and  unsolicited 
testimony  of  Dr.  Benton ;  the  interest  of  our  wise*  old 
minister.  I  told  of  the  letter  of  the  superintendent  at 
Castleton,  which  sent  me  on  my  first  search  ;  the  proofs 
I  found  there  of  his  manly  life,  in  spite  of  the  bitter 
sadness  and  doubt  by  which  he  was  oppressed.  I 
spoke  of  the  letters  she  had  just  read, — the  evidence 
they  gave  of  a  chivalrous  nature,  so  manful  and  reso- 
lute. Then  I  spoke  of  the  letter  of  Eldred  to  his  father, 
the  mention  in  it  of  Herbert,  and  my  hurrying  at  once 
to  the  spot.  I  spoke  v.ith  deliberation  ;  but  the  depth 
of  my  feeling  was  plain,  I  know,  in  my  words. 

"  She  sat  before  me  in  perfect  quiet,  with  lids  hang- 
ing dark  down  upon  her  check,  so  that  I  could  not  see 
the  eyes.  I  watched  her  with  painful  earnestness, — 
the  passionless  features,  the  calm  hands  folded  within 
her  gray  robe.     Would  she  give  no  sign?     I  spoke  of 


THE   NURSE.  225 

coming  at  last  to  Eldred's  bedside ;  stillno  sign.  I  had 
almost  finished,  and  now  it  was  the  last  sentence,  '  but 
he  died,  without  leaving  me  any  clew  ! '  Thank  God  ! 
she  started,  and  breathed  a  long  sigh;  and  then  there 
was  quick,  convulsive  Iieaving  of  the  breast,  that  could 
not  be  controlled.  I  rose  from  my  chair  in  joy.  I 
hardly  know  myself,  why  it  is  that  I  am  so  much  ab- 
sorbed for  Herbert ;  but  so  it  is.  I  think  I  have  hardly 
been  so  happy,  since  I  read  in  the  eyes  of  Alice  that  she 
would  be  my  wife.  It  was  unreasonable  enough  ;  but  I 
could  not  help  feeling,  that  in  some  way  a  great  diffi- 
culty was  cleared  out  of  the  path.  Of  course,  this -will 
not  help  me  in  finding  him  ;  and  yet,  when  we  do  find 
him,  as  I  know  we  shall,  what  sweet  intelligence  it  will 
be  with  which  we  can  welcome  him  ! 

"'You  see  it,  —  you  see  it  all,'  she  breathed  low. 
*  I  did  not  mean  to  show  it ;  but  I  could  not  keep  it 
back.'  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sobbed 
convulsively.  Now  that  the  heart  of  Leonora  was  re- 
vealed to  me,  I  was  filled  with  hope  more  than  ever. 
'  Courage  —  have  courage  ! '  .  I  said  :  'find  him  we 
surely  shall.'  She  grew  calm,  and  told  me  all  quite 
unreservedly.  She  had  begun  to  love  Herbert  at  the 
island.  Her  father  was  fully  persuaded  of  the  unsound- 
ness of  Herbert's  mind  ;  and,  in  her  prostration,  she  had 
had  no  force  to  withstand  him;  Indeed,  she  had  feared 
herself  it  might  be  true,  the  opinion  seemed  so  general. 
This  fear  had  had  much  to  do  with  her  continued  illness. 
Then,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  as  she  began  to  grow 
better,  her  mighty,  passionate  force  had  swept  her  away 

10* 


226  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

into  a  tumult  of  patriotic  fervor  ;  so  that,  for  a  time,  her 
personal  affections  were  overwhelmed.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  I  approached  her  first,  and  w^as  repelled. 
Afterward,  however,  this  all-engrossing  zeal  had  some- 
what subsided.  I  think  her  devotedness  is  as  earnest 
as  ever,  but  it  is  f^ir  calmer ;  and  now,  in  this  calmer 
time,  the  deep-seated  affection,  eclipsed  but  not  obliter- 
ated, began  to  appear  again,  far  down  within  her  soul. 
She  knew,  indeed,  that  there  were  those  who  thought 
Herbert  was  misunderstood.  She  knew  little,  however, 
about  their  reasons  for  the  opinion.  Slie  judged  it  idle 
to  inquire ;  for  he  had  fled.  If  he  had  loved  her,  she 
thought,  she  would  have  heard  some  word.  Her  love 
lay  in  her  soul ;  but  she  had  rejected  it,  and  souglit  to 
cast  it  out  as  a  hopeless  thing.  Still,  from  day  to  day, 
it  possessed  her;  and  yet  none  have  known,  of  all 
those  whose  lips  she  has  moistened,  whose  pillows  she 
has  smoothed,  how  wrought  the  agonized  heart,  behind 
that  calm,  still,  white  face.  Now  I  know  it,  and  I  have 
given  her  comfort  and  hope. 

"  As  we  talked,  she  became  comj^osed  as  ever.  At 
length  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  room. 
She  rose  and  opened  it,  and  tliere  entered  a  tall  figure, 
with  heavy  military  coat,  and  boots  splashed,  as  if  with 
riding  through  mire.  He  removed  his  cap,  and  I  knew 
the  face  at  once,  —  Holyoake,  grown  so  noted  these  last 
years ;  browner  than  of  old,  with  a  form  somewhat 
heavier,  and  shoulders  more  square.  His  face  had  lost 
nothing  of  its  old  masculine  beauty ;  indeed,  there  was 
more.     Resolution  in  the  eye ;   strength  in  the  mouth 


THE   XtJRSE. 


227 


and  on  the  brow,  won  amid  danger  and  hardship; 
caiio-ht  when  the  batteries  have  flamed,  and  rung  the 
hoofs  of  chargers  ;  indeed  an  Agamemnon,  uva^  av6pC)v, — 
a  king  of  men  !  He  was  not  glad  to  see  me,  though 
sufficiently  polite.  He  threw  back  his  hea\y  coat,  show- 
ino-  th^  insignia  of  a  general  officer.  In  old  times,  he 
subdued  me  by  his  prestige  and  superb  personal  gifts ; 
and  even  now,  at  another  time,  I  might  have  been  op- 
pressed, puny,  and  undistinguished  there,  before  one 
whom  the  world  calls  a  hero  :  but  my  soul  was  roused 
bv  the  previous  events  of  the  evening,  and,  I  believe,  I 
sat  before  him  then,  possessed  and  confident  as  if  I  had 
been  his  equal.  Herbert  must  be  found  :  that  was  my 
thought.  No  stone  must  be  left  unturned.  Even  this 
man,  —  rival  though  he  was, — author  though  I  had 
good  reason  to  suppose  he  was  of  Herbert's  wretched- 
ness, —  even  this  man  might  be  made  to  help  me ;  and 
help  me  he  should,  if  it  was  in  his  power. 

"  I  soon  found  the  opportunity  to  tell  Holyoake  my 
errand  to  the  army,  — '  to  find  Herbert  Lee  :  what 
could  be  done  ?  As  a  college  friend  of  Lee,  no  doubt  he 
would  be  ready  to  give  advice,  —  to  help  in  anyway  that 
he  could  to  bring  his  friends  to  him.'  He  started  as 
if  stung.  I  almost  fancied  he  had  seen  him  ;  and  yet, 
I  suppose,  his  repugnance  to  Lee  was  enough  to  explain 
his  movement.  Still  it  was  a  little  strange,  that  a  man 
so  exposed  to  the  fiercest  excitements  should  have  so 
lost  his  self-possession.  He  recovered  himself  in  a  mo- 
ment. '  Lee,  —  yes,  it  was  a  sad  case.  He  had  been 
heard  from  then  ?     Supposed  he  was  drowned.     AVas  I 


228  THE    THENKING   BAYONET. 

sure  he  was  in  the  army?  Difficult  matter  to  find  a 
man  who  chose  to  hide  himself;  —  would  do  what  he 
could  to  help,  he  was  sure,  but  feared  there  was  little 
hope.' 

"I  rose  presently,  and  took  my  leave.  The  next 
morning,  before  departing,  I  saw  Leonora  again.  She 
keeps  nothing  from  me  now.  She  told  me  of  Hol- 
yoake's  de-votedness,  persisted  in  year  after  year,  though 
she  gave  him  no  hope.  She  believed  him  to  be  brave 
and  noble,  and  desired  to  retain  his  friendship.  Occa- 
sionally they  met,  —  when  Holyoake  for  a  day  or  so 
could  leave  his  division  ;  and  once  or  twice,  when  she 
had  needed  the  relaxation,  he  had  accompanied  her  in 
riding.  I  did  not  tell  her,  that  this  noble  friend  I  sus- 
pected of  base  treachery ;  that  probably  he  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  misery  of  both  Herbert  and  herself. 

"  There,  that  is  all.  I  write  from  Meadowboro'  again. 
Eldred  is  buried  close  at  hand  to  the  broad  mead  alonor 

o 

which  he  went  shouting  to  his  cattle,  and  the  mountain 
grove  that  heard  his  holiday  singing. 

"  And  now,  to  end  the  sorrowful  story,  word  comes 
to  me  that  the  father  died  last  night.  He  came  home, 
to  sit  shrivelled  and  sad  within  his  house,  thinking  of 
his  dead  sons,  —  the  husbandman  once  so  hale  !  I  knew 
he  must  go,  but  did  not  look  for  the  end  so  soon.  To- 
morrow, we  shall  lower  his  dust  into  the  dust,  among 
the  graves  of  his  line,  reaching  back  to  the  foundation 
of  the  town.  I  think  the  soil  will  embrace  him  there  in 
liis  silent  sleep,  more  tenderly  than  if  it  were  the  clay  of 
a  stranger.     I  am  glad,  too,  that  Eldred  is  buried  here ; 


THE   NUKSE.  229 

SO  tliat  one  child,  at  least,  of  those  who  knew  so  well 
the  clasp  of  his  hearty  arms,  and  the  heave  of  the  hale 
knees,  when  he  tossed  their  baby  figures  years  ago  in  his 
play  with  them,  — that  one  child  now  again  may  nestle 
at  his  side.  His  joy  is  fled,  and  he  sleeps  well.  And 
now  the  line  is  closed.  There  are  none  left  of  his 
household  to  join  the  honorable  farmer  and  his  kindred, 
there  in  their  solemn  sleep.  He  lies  dead  within  his 
house  to-night ;  and  without,  in  the  bare  trees,  there  is 
a  weight  of  white  snow  in  their  branches,  — ghost-like, 
as  if  the  leaves  that  died  there  in  the  autumn  came  like 
spirits  to  haunt  the  branches  in  white  shrouds. 

"  Never  more  than  now  have  I  lamented  my  weak 
frame  and  uncertain  health.  I  should  not  dare  to  ex- 
pose myself  to  the  sights  and  labors  \^hich  even  a  nurse 
must  bear.  Or,  if  I  could  do  it  myself,  how  can  I  ask 
Alice  to  undergo  separation  from  one  whom  she  has 
come  to  love,  —  to  live  upon  the  little  pittance  that 
woukl  be  my  portion  should  I  go,  or  bear  the  hard- 
ship that  would  be  her  lot  should  I  die  ?  But  I  avow 
to  you,  that  any  work  I  can  do  in  the  way  of  my 
profession  now  seems  utter  trifling  and  waste  of  time, 
before  the  work  that  might  be  done  in  the  scenes  that  I 
have  beheld.  I  try  to  be  faithful  here, — to  wife,  to 
parish,  to  duty  in  general ;  but  to  live  here,  in  quiet 
and  comfort,  amid  flowery  ease  ! " 


230  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


CLAIBORNE. 


For  weeks  and  weeks  it  had  been  alternate  battle  and 
march,  and  now  the  enemy  had  turned  again ;  lying 
low  behind  a  long  ridge,  thrown  up  in  a  night  on  the 
brow  of  a  slope,  with  a  swampy  forest  at  the  base. 
Here  came  crowding  their  Federal  pursuers,  —  cutting 
roads  through  the  thick  vegetation ;  hastily  bridging 
with  the  felled  trees  dark  pools ;  cutting  in  twain  the 
knottino^  vines  that  had  woven  the  wood  into  a  tancrle  : 
so  that  the  horseman  could  ride,  and  not  hold  his  hand 
above  his  head  to  guard  himself  from  the  branches  ;  and 
the  white-covered  wagons,  with  bread  and  beef,  and 
powder,  could  go  to  and  fro,  with  no  solid  trunk  to  hit 
their  hubs,  and  no  slough  to  swallow  them  to  the  axle. 
Herbert  lay  in  his  place, —  a  little  booth  of  boughs  be- 
hind a  heavy  fallen  trunk,  his  habitation;  but,  in  day- 
times, or  at  night  when  he  was  on  duty,  he  crouched  with 
silent  men  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  where  trees  were 
pitted  and  leaves  torn  with  bullets  from  the  rebel  sharp- 
shooters. Smeared  was  their  dress  with  the  slime  of  the 
mire  in  which  they  crouched.  Ague  rose  at  nightfall 
with  exhalations,  and  fastened  upon  their  bones.  Lying 
under  his  low  shelter-tent,  drowsing  once,  after  a  night 


CLAIBORNE.  231 

on  picket,  something  drew  itself  slowly  up  upon  Her- 
bert's shoulder,  then  over  his  breast :  he  opened  his 
eyes  upon  a  poisonous  snake. 

An  order  came  for  a  force  of  infantry  to  move  back. 
Herbert  was  in  the  detail.  Pat  was  in  hospital  again, 
wounded  in  the  last  battle.  Herbert  did  not  know  — 
how  should  a  sergeant  ever  know?— where  they  were  to 
go.  Out  they  moved  from  the  thickets  one  morning, 
just  before  day,  —  at  the  time  when  it  is  most  dark,  and 
men  sleep  soundest,  —  stepping  carefully,  so  as  not  to 
break  the  dried  limbs  in  their  path  ;  so  as  not  to  slip  on. 
the  damp  curve  of  the  logs  of  the  bridges,  and  send  out 
on  the  stillness  the  rattle  of  their  arms  :  for  the  alarm 
would  have  gone  over  to  the  rebel  line,  and  a  hot  bat- 
tery-fire have  come  hissing  after  them  through  the  dark- 
ness. Soon  they  could  march,  taking  less  care.  They 
were  on  the  bank  of  the  creek,  where,  in  booths  and 
shanties,  the  cooking  was  done  for  the  division,  in  ad- 
vance. Here  they  stayed  till  the  day  broke,  and  saw, 
from  each  booth,  two  stout  men  go  out  with  iron  kettles 
of  smoking  food  slung  between  them,  to  creep  and  crawl 
to  the  companies  ahead  there  under  fire.  "  Look  out 
for  the  kettle,  cooks,"  said  a  soldier:  "the  boys  would 
rather  have  a  bullet  go  through  you,  than  that  crocky 
old  iron-side."  Here  the  force  took  rations,  cramming 
haversacks  with  beef  and  bread,  with  coftee  and  sugar. 
Then  came  the  drum-tap  ;  and,  before  the  day  was  hot, 
they  halted  before  head-quarters, — a  large  wall-tent 
for  the  general,  with  a  sentry  in  front,  and  shelter  about 
for  aides  and  escort. 


232  THE    TIIIXKING   BAYONET. 

The  general  came  out  in  undress,  smoking ;  and  the 
soldiers  looked  at  the  man,  whose  name  was  on  their 
lips  every  hour  almost,  whom  they  had  sometimes  seen 
on  the  gallop  with  a  cavalcade  of  aides  and  orderlies,  but 
upon  whose  brown ,  resolute  face  many  of  them  had  never 
before  looked  steadily.  AYord  went  from  man  to  man, 
that  the  present  duty  was  likely  to  be  neither  dangerous 
nor  severe.  They  were  simply  to  guard  a  wagon-train 
which  was  to  go  out  for  forage  ten  miles  or  so  beyond 
the  videttes.  A  few  companies  of  infantry,  with  a  sec- 
tion of  a  battery  and  a  small  squad  of  cavalry,  were  to 
be  the  guard.  The  wagons  were  to  go  out  empty,  or 
with  only  sacks  :  so,  for  once,  the  infantry  were  to  go 
royally,  half  a  dozen  in  each  wagon.  Rough  coaches  ;  but 
as  the  men  laid  their  guns  on  the  broken  and  splintered 
boards  at  the  bottom,  the  broad-soled,  well-worn  shoes 
on  quiet  feet,  instead  of  crunching  through  dust  or 
sucking  through  mire,  it  seemed  so  much  better  than  to 
tramp.  Forward  went  the  rusty  caravan, — like  some 
great  articulated  creature,  the  successive  joints  along 
whose  trailing  body  were  the  white  wagon-tops,  ribbed 
and  curving  like  shell ;  whose  antennas  were  the  squads 
of  cavalry  thrown  out  in  lines  from  the  front,  thrust 
on  suddenly  toward  any  thing  suspicious,  and  then 
withdrawn. 

Then  they  gained  the  mills  from  which  the  forage  was 
to  be  taken  ;  and  the  soldiers,  forsaking  the  wagons,  the 
groups  of  lialf  a  dozen  re-assembling,  stood  in  line, 
fresh  through  their  ride  ;  then  were  marched  to  an  ele- 
where  arms  w^ere  stacked.     Close  at  the 


CLAIBORNE.  233 

mnsket-butts  the  men  lay,  and  opened  their  haversacks, 
while  the  wagons  were  loaded.  It  was  a  pleasant  change 
from  the  dismal  life  at  the  front ;  for,  out  in  the  fields 
there,  the  w^ind  sw^ept  free.  Herbert  lay  at  ease,  glad 
to  be  able  to  stretch  out  arms  and  feet  without  fear  of 
their  affording  a  mark  to  a  sharpshooter ;  watching  the 
artillery-men  sleeping  in  the  shadow  of  their  caissons, 
with  backs  braced  against  the  w^heels,  and  the  cavalry 
horses  eating  their  corn.  It  was  peaceful  enough ;  for 
in  his  ears  sounded  the  little  river  gurgling  past  the 
mills.  Its  w^aterfall  sent  spray  over  the  rough  un- 
painted  clapboards,  to  w^hich  clung  mosses ;  and  the 
sky  was  full  of  such  clouds  as  cover  the  heavens  above 
harvest-fields. 

Presently  a  solitary  rifle  cracked  out  from  the  brow 
of  a  hill  above  them ;  then  an  intermittent  volley  came 
sharply  upon  the  air ;  and  a  mule  or  tw^o,  bleeding  in 
the  neck  or  back,  kicked  madly  in  their  traces  there  by 
the  door  of  the  mill.  Each  man  is  instantly  on  foot ;  for 
this  is  hostile  territory,  and  here  is  a  force  strong  enough 
to  venture  upon  attack.  The  cavalry  are  in  saddle,  and 
clatter  over  the  crazy  bridge  across  the  stream,  whose 
planks  bound  under  the  galloping  hoofs.  Startled 
drivers,  to  whose  teams  the  bullets  are  whistling  so  that 
they  do  not  need  to  shout,  rush  headlong  back  along 
the  road  by  which  they  have  come.  The  major  in  com- 
mand hopes  it  is  only  a  guerilla  force.  The  brow  of 
the  hill  is  wdthin  artillery  range  ;  and  the  battery-officer, 
with  red  cord  daintily  twisted  into  an  artillery-lieuten- 
ant's badge  upon  each  shoulder,  presently  has  his  pieces 


234  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

pointed.  The  infantry  close  by  snufF  the  sulphurous 
air,  and  feel  the  jar  at  the  discharge ;  then  far  ahead,  a 
moment  after,  see  the  jet  of  smoke  against  the  trees, 
where  the  shell  explodes.  Now,  from  a  wood  at  the 
side,  comes  an  unexpected  volley.  Suddenly  a  rebel 
battery  opens  from  the  hill  where  the  first  volleys  were 
heard.  Shells  whiz  here  and  there ;  arid,  one  falling 
beneath  the  axle  of  a  cannon,  Herbert  sees  it  thrown 
from  its  carriage  by  the  explosion,  a  heavy  dent  in  its 
brass,  and  two  strong,  red-trimmed  artillery-men  on 
their  backs  by  its  side.  The  infantry,  hastily  facing  to 
the  rio:ht  and  doublin^:,  hurrv  back  in  the  direction  of 
the  army ;  and  the  remaining  federal  gun,  after  sending 
a  parting  shell,  limbers  up,  and  goes  off  on  the  gallop, 
with  three  horses, — the  fourth  being  left  behind,  kick- 
ing, and  on  his  back,  with  the  blood  coming  from  a 
bullet-wound  in  the  side. 

So  they  begin  to  retreat ;  but  a  panic-stricken  wag- 
oner, hatless,  and  lashing  his  frantic  mules,  who  heads 
the  disorderly  caravan  that  is  rushing  back  toward  the 
army,  suddenly  fulls  from  his  saddle,  shot ;  and  the  next 
moment  his  team,  coming  round  a  turn,  run  bolt  against 
a  large  tree,  felled  across  the  road  since  the  expedition 
passed  two  hours  ago.  "  Cut  off,  by  Heaven  !  "  says 
the  major,  a  young  officer  of  little  experience,  who  is 
not  equal  to  the  occasion.  Teams  and  men  are  huddled 
together  in  confusion  ;  horses  kicking,  men  shouting ; 
now  and  then  an  exploding  shell  dashing  a  wagon  in 
splinters,  or  killing  a  number  of  men.  Now  from  be- 
hind comes  a  heavy  rumbling.     Do\nti  the  road  sweeps 


CLAIBORNE.  235 


in  disorder  the  Federal  cavalry,  left  behind  to  protect 
the  rear  ;  and  immediately  on  their  heels,  filling  the  road, 
rushes,  a  force  of  rebel  horsemen,  on  steeds  lean  but 
active  ;  with  bridles  of  rope,  and  saddles  sometimes  of 
bagging  ;  gaunt  and  fierce-eyed  ;  some  in  shirt-sleeves, 
some  in  butternut;  often  shoeless,  and  with  slouched 
hats,  — all  on  the  run,  with  sabre  and  pistol  and  curse, 
into  the  midst  of  the  confusion. 

Surrender  is  the  only  thing.  It  is  done,  and  the 
firing  ceases.  A  strong  column  of  the  enemy,  it  ap- 
pears, has  suddenly  been  thrown  into  the  neighborhood  ; 
and  it  is  this  which  has  been  encountered.  The  wild- 
looking  horsemen  wheel  and  trot  back.  Up  comes  a 
line  of  infantry  as  uncouth,  with  as  little  approach  to 
uniform  ;  and  hastily  the  captives  are  made  to  lay  down 
their  arms,  and  take  off  equipments.  The  wagons  are 
quickly  collected,  and  sent  back  toward  the  main  rebel 
force.  The  prisoners  follow,  a  strong  guard  marching 
behind ;  for  the  cannonade  has  been  heard,  no  doubt, 
by  the  Federal  general,  and  a  relieving  force  may  be 
sent  out.  They  hurry  past  the  mills,  brightly  blazing 
now  through  exploding  shells  ;  then  go  onward.  Her- 
bert wonders  whether  it  would  be  better  to  be  lying 
with  those  just  fiillen,  — left  unburied  there  behind,  —  or 
to  meet  the  fate  which  is  before  him.  But  he  is  well ; 
thinks  he  is  in  the  way  of  his  duty,  at  any  rate ;  and 
nerves  himself  to  bear  it  all  as  well  as  he  can. 

They  march  till  nightfall,  quickly  forward,  with  but 
few  halts  ;  then  forward,  for  most  of  the  night,  unarmed 
and  desponding.     Their  captors  make  them  carry  pretty 


236  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

heavily ;  so  it  is  tough  work,  with  but  little  to  hope  at 
the  end  of  it.  jMornino^  briiif'S  them  to  a  town  which 
the  rebels  hold  in  force,  and  here  they  stop  for  rest. 
Pretty  much  every  thing  has  beeil  taken  but  the  uni- 
forms they  wear ;  arms  first,  then  shelter-tents  and 
blankets :  for  their  captors  want  them.  They  fling 
themselves  down  by  the  roadside,  so  tired,  that,  for  the 
moment,  there  is  nothing  to  ask  for  but  a  chance  to  rest. 
With  heads  resting  on  timbers,  and  on  the  edge  of  the 
dry  gutter,  they  go  to  sleep  at  once. 

Toward  noon,  Herbert  is  awake  again.  His  com- 
rades in  captivity,  most  of  them,  sleep  ;  one  or  two  are 
bathing  blistered  feet  in  a  spring  near.  Herbert  washes 
face  and  hands,  beats  the  dust  out  of  his  clothing,  then 
surveys  his  surroundings.  His  position  overlooks  a  field 
upon  which  lies  a  strong  force  of  the  rebel  army ;  men 
lately  from  besieged  strongholds,  where  they  have  lived 
in  ovens  hollowed  out  within  the  steep  sides  of  ravines, 
or  lain  on  backs  and  faces  in  shallow  rifle-pits  ;  now  and 
then  raising  their  heads  for  a  shot  at  the  beleaguering 
Federals.  From  this  they  have  lately  come, — to  this 
they  are  speedily  going ;  their  life,  in  great  part,  a 
crawling  and  crouching  upon  and  within  the  earth  ;  with 
tramps  across  the  country  thrown  in,  through  dust  and 
swamp  and  wood ;  and  now  and  then  a  day  amid  thun- 
der and  fire  and  blood.  In  garb  and  complexion,  they 
seem,  like  the  little  chameleons  of  that  same  region,  to  be 
taking  on  the  hue  of  the  substance  upon  which  they  li\e  ; 
faces  and  clothing  in  hue  brown  and  dull  as  the  dusty 
clay  where  it  is   their  life  to  burrow  and  creep.     For 


CLAIBORXE.  237 

knapsacks  and  haversacks,  there  are  simply  bags  of 
wliite  canvas,  —  through  soiling,  very  soon  as  brown  as 
their  coarse  dress ;  for  canteens,  two  broad  disks  of  red 
cedar,  with  a  narrow  space  between,  belted  about  by 
an  iron-bound  curb  of  little  staves.  From  these  Her- 
bert can  see  them  sucking  their  beer,  —  the  drink  wliich 
the  rebel  soldier  knows  how  to  make  from  steeped  herbs,' 
and  which,  in  some  regions,  stands  to  him  as  coffee 
stands  to  his  Federal  opponent ;  his  regular  beverage, 
more  palatable  and  healthful  than  the  water  of  swamps 
or  stao^natino;  streams. 

Herbert  sees  the  Arkansas  backwoodsmen  (a  regi- 
ment have  arrived  within  a  day  or  two,  and  are  to 
remain)  framing  rude  cabins  of  logs  out  of  the  forest 
trees,  making  them  tight  by  cementing  the  cracks  with 
mud,  building  their  chimneys  of  sticks  piled  up  cob- 
house  fashion,  then  heavily  smeared  over  and  joined 
together  with  wet  clay  from  the  banks  of  a  creek  near, 
until  they  are  tight  and  serviceable,  —  tenements  as 
elaborate  and  comfortable,  probably,  as  those  in  the 
backwoods,  where  they  were  born  and  nurtured.  Her- 
bert sees,  too,  the  batteries,  —  sometimes  of  shining 
brass.  If  he  were  nearer,  he  could  see,  in  some  cases, 
the  stamp  of  Northern  founderies  oh  the  breech,  — 
captured  guns ;  batteries  of  guns  brought  over  by 
blockade-runners  ;  and  some  cast  in  their  own  roaring, 
hard-pushed  founderies.  The  horses  drag  them  by 
traces  of  rope.  The  caissons  are  unpainted,  the  but- 
ternut drivers  whip  their  gaunt  teams  mth  switches  of 
hickory.     No  gloss  or  finish  ;  but  the  guns  will  be  well 


238  THE    THINKING    BAYOXET. 

gerved  in  time  of  battle.  He  sees  officers  riding  here 
and  tliere  ;  gray-liaired  men,  and  tall,  dark-faced 
youths,  with  black  hair  streaming  from  under  their 
caps,  —  sometimes  richly  dressed  ;  tasselled  and  braided 
finery  from  Paris  or  London,  by  way  of  Wilmington 
and  Nassau ;  but  more  often  in  plain  homespun,  with 
no  embroidery  but  the  badge  of  rank  upon  sleeve  or 
collar. 

At  last,  there  comes  by  a  division  on  the  march,  — 
veterans,  Herbert  imagines,  of  twenty  battles  perhaps ; 
inured  to  wearying  tramp  and  death-haunted  trench. 
It  is  like  what  he  has  seen  on  the  other  side  :  only,  in 
place  of  blue,  the  dress  of  the  infantry  matches  the 
road  where  they  move.  Dust  has  lodged  upon  hair 
and  beard,  and  the  brims  of  their  tattered  hats.  As 
they  pass  near  him,  Herbert  hears  a  huge,  heavy- 
bearded  sergeant,  —  ragged  at  the  knee,  feet  protruding 
through  worn-out  shoes,  —  in  a  voice  hoarse  as  if 
through  shouting  challenges,  or  screaming  amid  the  din 
of  batteries,  singing  the  solo  to  "  Stonewall  Jackson's 
way  : "  — 

"  He's  in  the  saddle  now.    Fall  in  ! 

Steady  !  the  whole  brigade. 
Hill's  at  the  ford,  cut  oflP —  we'll  win 

His  way  out,  ball  and  blade  ! 
What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn  ! 
What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn  ! 
Quick  step  !  we're  witli  him  before  dawn  : 

That's  Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

At  the  end  of  each  verse,  the  ranks  take  up  the 
refrain  from  the  Sergeant's  heavy  bass,  and  peal  it  out, 


CLAIBOKXE.  239 

"  That's  Stonewall  Jackson's  way ; "  ragged,  poorly 
shod  men,  but  with  elastic  tread ;  with  their  brown 
hands  holding  sometimes  light-colored  butts,  —  rifles  of 
Belgian  make  ;  sometimes  the  darker  Enfield  pattern; 

Herbert  talks  with  those  who  approach.  The  sol- 
diers who  come  are,  for  the  most  part,  good-natured; 
avoid  every  thing  like  insult ;  and  compare  notes  as  to 
battles  in  whicli,  on  both  sides,  they  have  been  con- 
cerned. Reb  and  Yankee  both  have  had  experience 
of  one  another's  courage ;  so  the  man  in  blue,  and  the 
man  in  butternut,  mutually  respectful,  confer  affably 
about  these  past  combats.  "  We  thought  we  were 
gone  for  it  one  time,"  says  Reb,  "  when  you  made  that 
charge."  "  But  you  met  us  with  such  a  fire  !  "  says 
the  Yankee.  "  I'll  be  dosr  on  it,  ef  I  ain't  sorrv  for 
ye.  Xow,  stranger,  ef  I  could  come  across  ye  in  the 
old  Arkansas  bottoms,  you'd  get  a  right  good  dish  of 
pork  and  hoe-cake  up  to  my  clearin' ! "  It  is  the  ordi- 
nary thing  for  soldiers  to  meet  with  hostile  intent ;  and, 
when  two  sides  come  together  with  hostility  laid  away, 
there  is  at  first  a  grand  novelty  about  it,  which  makes 
it  a  most  interesting  meeting.  For  cordiality,  com- 
mend me  to  the  meeting  of  hostile  pickets  under  flag 
of  truce ;  or  the  coming  together  of  prisoners  and 
those  who  have  taken  them,  after  a  bitter  piece  of  cam- 
paigning, when  both  sides  have  shown  soldiership. 

As  the  prisoners  lay  in  the  streets,  the  soldiers  were 
friendly,  though  citizens,  as  they  went  by,  now  and 
then  said  a  bitter  thing,  and  sometimes  sharp-tongued 
women  heaped  reproaches  upon  them.     Herbert  bore  it 


240  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

grave  and  unmoved,  when  a  woman  shook  her  fist  in 
his  face,  thinking  of  scenes  he  had  witnessed ;  among 
others,  of  the  poor  woman  who  bled,  while  a  ruffianly 
soldier  clutched  at  her  ornaments,  with  the  food  of  her 
children  wasted  and  consumed,  and  the  home  on  fire. 
Perhaps  this  woman  had  suffered  in  that  way. 

So  they -lay,  with  no  shelter,  and  but  little  food; 
and,  in  a  day  or  two,  went  oif  under  a  hot  sun,  upon 
open  cars,  through  leagues  of  country  where  there 
was  scarcely  a  house ;  stopping  now  and  then  at  little 
dingy  villages,  in  whose  streets  were  only  women, 
children,  and  old  men  :  until,  at  last,  they  came  to  the 
city  where  they  were  to  remain. 

Here,  within  a  comfortless  space,  fenced  in  by  a 
guarded  stockade,  were  Federal  prisoners  by  the  thou- 
sand ;  some  broken  in  spirit  through  long  confinement, 
in  every  way  foul,  with  clothing  unrenewed  filling  to 
pieces  about  their  emaciated  limbs  ;  some  like  Herbert 
and  his  companions,  just  arrived,  with  the  mark  of 
good  Federal  bread  and  beef — wholesome  if  coarse 
—  in  healthy  faces  and  firm  limbs. 

Fever  began  to  prevail ;  and  to  fall  sick  was  almost 
to  die :  for-the  conditions  of  the  life  were  to  the  last 
degree  unhealthy,  and  there  was  little  or  no  attendance 
of  physicians.  Herbert  became  a  nurse  of  the  sick, 
who  lay  beneath  a  miserable  shed.  This,  although 
poor  shelter  enough,  was  yet  the  best  that  the  prison- 
ers' camp  afforded.  He  gave  such  poor  comforts  as 
there  were,  and  the  few  remedies  that  were  provided ; 
soothed   the   men,   softening   his   heavy  tones ;    wiped 


OLAIBORNE.  241 

away  the  death-damps,  as  the  eyes  were  becoming 
fixed ;  then  decently  composed  the  thin  limbs  for  the 
rough  burial.  How  many  there  were  of  these  un- 
knelled,  uncoffined  dead  !  From  man  to  man  among 
the  sick,  by  day,  —  by  night  with  the  candle  he  could 
sometimes  get,  or  by  the  stars,  —  he  moved  faithfully 
and  aifectionately  to  where  one  called  for  water ;  to 
where  one  in  delirium  had  got  up  from  the  boards  where 
he  lay,  and  with  trembling  limbs,  and  ghastly,  idiotic 
smile  and  gibber,  staggered  off;  or  to  where  there  was 
one  to  be  bathed.  Herbert's  health  remained  firm  ;  and 
he  rejoiced  that  he  could  do  brave  duty  there,  where 
there  was  weary  groaning,  and  the  frequent  breathing 
up  of  life. 

One  day,  there  came  among  the  prisoners  a  rebel 
colonel.  Herbert  saw  him  first,  at  some  distance,  with 
his  face  turned  away.  His  gray  coat  was  worn  with 
rough  service ;  but  Herbert  knew  his  rank  by  the 
badges  embroidered  upon  the  collar.  Though  slight, 
and  not  tall  in  figure,  he  stood  erect  and  firm ;  and  his 
bearing  was  altogether  martial.  The  left  sleeve  hung 
limp  and  loose.  It  was  plain,  that  the  member  which 
should  have  filled  it  had  been  shot  or  hewn  away. 
Now  and  then,  as  he  moved  among  the  prisoners,  he 
stopped  and  talked.  At  fii'st,  Herbert's  attention  was 
not  much  drawn  ;  for  it  was  an  ordinary  circumstance 
for  officers  of  some  rank  to  visit  the  camp.  Presently, 
however,  happening  to  look  when  the  face  of  the  visitor 
was  turned  fully  toward  him,  how  was  he  startled  to 
recognize  Claiborne  !     Beneath  its  bronze,  it  wore  all 

11 


242  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  old,  high-born,  haughty  look.  As  he  walked,  the 
step  was  full  of  pride,  —  an  imposing  carriage  !  Her- 
bert's heart  went  out  to  him ;  and  yet  he  shrunk  from 
recognition.  He  knew  that  in  his  wretched  plight  as  a 
prisoner,  —  stained,  too,  as  his  clothing  was  from  hard 
work  in  the  hospital,  —  he  was  more  than  ever  dis- 
guised. He  was  debating  whether  to  address  him  or 
not,  when  circumstances  determined  his  course- for  him. 

He  sat  still,  while  Claiborne  approached,  stopping 
now  and  then  to  talk.  He  was  trying  to  induce  the 
prisoners  to  forswear  their  allegiance  ;  to  join  the  rebel 
army,  or  take  positions  elsewhere.  He  came  at  length 
to  a  soldier  near  Herbert,  —  a  young  teacher  just  from 
college,  a  pure,  dutiful  youth,  in  soldier's  garb  from  the 
noblest  of  motives.  He  was  taken  with  Herbert,  when 
they  were  cut  off.  He  had  begun  to  languish,  and  had 
come  under  the  poor  protection  of  the  hospital-shed. 
He  was  Herbert's  friend.  Claiborne  addressed  him  as 
he  had  done  others.  Hubbard  (that  was  his  name) 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  pale  and  weak  though  he 
was,  and  sent  a  hot  "  No  "  right  into  Claiborne's  face, 
then  poured  out  a  spirited  rebuke  to  him  for  so  address- 
ing him.  Claiborne  grew  white  beneath  his  tan,  with 
sudden  anger.  His  teeth  were  clenched.  In  a  mo- 
ment, his  hand  was  at  his  belt,  and  his  pistol  drawn. 
In  another,  it  was  discharged,  and  poor  Hubbard  fell 
back,  shot  through  the  heart.  "  Take  off  this  carrion  ! " 
said  Claiborne  to  tlie  guards  near,  kicking  the  body 
with  his  foot  as  he  put  back  the  pistol. 

Beside  himself,  Herbert  leaped  to  his  feet.     "  Cow- 


CLAIBORNE.  243 

ard,  —  coward  and  murderer,  Claiborne  !  "  he  said  : 
"  unarmed,  and  your  prisoner ;  it  is  the  deed  of  a 
coward  !  "  Claiborne  sprang,  at  the  voice,  and  at  being 
called  by  name ;  at  first  defiant  and  angry ;  then,  as 
he  saw  and  recognized  Herbert,  the  wrathful  light  faded 
from  his  eye.  "  It  is  Herbert  Lee,"  he  said ;  then  he 
stepped  forward,  as  if  to  speak  to  him ;  but,  changing 
his  purpose,  grew  confused,  and  hurried  away. 

Herbert  went  to  Hubbard's  body.  They  made  room 
for  him ;  for  he  had  acquired  some  ascendancy  among . 
the  men.  As  he  stooped  over  him,  he  saw  where  the 
ball  had  entered.  Hubbard  still  gasped,  and  despe- 
rately tried  to  say  something,  as  his  friend  took  his 
head  in  his  arms ;  but  he  could  not  articulate.  He 
knew  Herbert ;  and,  as  he  gave  over  the  efl:brt  with  a 
mournfid  look  in  his  eyes,  the  sergeant  kissed  his  brow 
and  cheeks,  letting  him  know  that  he  went  not  unla- 
mented.  Then  the  features  fixed.  Herbert  straightened 
the  body,  made  it  decent  for  burial,  simply  brushing  the 
dirt  from  the  clothing,  and  buttoning  the  blouse  over 
the  bloody  breast.  Then  he  sat  and  thought.  The 
men  around  him  talked  low  about  the  incident,  —  the 
cruel  killing,  the  sergeant's  anger  and  calling  of  the  of- 
ficer by  name,  and  the  confusion  of  Claiborne  at  sight 
of  him :  but  no  one  questioned  him ;  for  they  had 
come  to  treat  him  with  some  deference.  His  heart 
fairly  ached.  Hubbard  was  his  friend,  and  the  man  for 
whom  he  still  felt  love  had  slain  him  before  his  face. 
"  So  cruel  and  cowardly,"  Herbert  thought  to  himself; 
"  how  deeply  is  he  cursed  !  " 


244  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

The  day  went  on  as  usual.  There  was  sickness  in 
the  hospital ;  the  usual  round  of  lamentation  among  the 
men ;  the  devouring  of  the  scanty  ration  of  bad  corn- 
bread  and  repulsive  meat.  When  night  came,  the 
camp  was  still ;  and  Herbert  sat  alone  by  a  sick  man, 
with  no  light  but  the  stars.  Then  Claiborne  came 
again ;  and,  standing  with  his  feet  almost  where  the 
blood  had  flowed  which  he  had  so  cruelly  poured  out, 
he  called  Herbert  low  by  his  own  name.  The  sergeant 
rose ;  and  they  stood  together,  while  the  prisoners  slept 
about  them.  "  Come,  let  us  walk,"  said  Claiborne ; 
and  they  went  forward. 

They  passed  the  guard  at  the  gate,  who  made  no 
remonstrance,  only  saluting  with  precision ;  for  Clai- 
borne, Herbert  found,  was  now  in  command  of  the 
camp.  He  was  recovering  from  the  loss  of  liis  arm, 
not  yet  able  to  take  the  field  again ;  but,  while  he  was 
recovering,  appointed  to  this  duty.  "When  they  were 
by  themselves  at  last,  they  sat  in  the  edge  of  a  wood, 
—  they  two,  who  had  been  separated  for  so  long.  "  I 
could  have  met  him  with  so  much  joy,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  terrible  incident  of  the  morninor !  "  thous^ht 
Herbert.  As  it  was,  he  found  himself  almost  forgetting 
it ;  for  Claiborne  seemed  now  like  another  man.  His 
tones  were  full  of  the  old  tenderness.  He  pressed 
Herbert,  with  most  friendly  interest,  about  his  own 
affairs ;  how  he  came  there,  and  in  that  garb.  "  I 
should  expect  to  find  you  high  in  rank,"  he  said : 
"  tell  me  your  story."  Herbert  had  thought  he  could 
never  meet  him  again  on  friendly  terms ;  but  his  mood 


CLAIBORNE.  245 

was  so  changed,  his  better  nature  that  he  had  known 
so  well  in  old  times  was  so  manifest,  that  he  could  not 
do  otherwise  than  treat  him  as  the  Claiborne  he  had 
known.  So  Herbert  told  him  all,  —  the  whole  history 
of  his  doubt  and  persecution,  his  love  and  flight ;  then 
the  revelation  of  duty  to  him,  and  the  inspiration. 
When  Herbert  had  begun,  he  could  not  help  going 
forward.  He  needed  so  to  make  confession  of  every 
thing,  that  he  told  him  all ;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  he 
maintained  a  resolve  that  he  formed  when  they  walked 
out  of  the  camp  together,  —  that  they  should  not  part 
before  he  had  told  Claiborne  the  abhorrence  with  which 
he  looked  upon  his  deed  of  the  morning. 

Claiborne  sat  silent  while  Herbert  gave  his  story. 
"You  see  your  duty  so  strangely,"  said  he,  at  last; 
"  yet  I  believe  you  to  have  a  most  honorable  heart,  and 
to  be  faithful  to  what  you  hold  as  right.  It  would*  be 
amazing  to  me,  that  a  man  of  your  discernment  should 
be  so  far  gone  in  error,  if  I  did  not  know  that  whole 
populations  were  in  similar  error  and  madness.  Such 
world-wide  differences  !  I  am  as  set  in  the  belief  that 
we  have  justice  and  right  on  our  side,  as  you  are  that  it 
is  on  yours.  Let  us  talk  temperately.  I  have  spent 
years  at  the  North,  you  know,  among  the  democratic 
institutions  which  you  are  so  desirous  to  maintain.  It 
was  at  a  young  and  giddy  age ;  but  I  remember  the 
life  well.  Now  that  I  am  old  enough  to  reflect,  — to 
go  down  to  principles, — I  can  recall  fact  upon  fact, 
to  buttress  me  in  my  hostility  to  such  democracy  as 
yours. 


246  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

"  In  your  Northern  communities,  a  certain  turbulence 
and  discord  reign  everywhere.  You  cannot  go  into  a 
town,  where  there  is  not  jarring  among  the  different  dis- 
tricts. If  a  river  divides  tlie  territory,  tliose  who  hve 
on  one  side  are  sure  to  be  more  or  less  at  feud  with  those 
who  live  on  the  other.  If  there  are  two  villages  within 
the  to^vnship,  there  is  jealousy  as  to  which  shall  have 
most  influence  in  to^vn-affairs.  In  the  smallest  divisions 
there  is  tumult.  Attend  a  district  meeting,  even,  and 
it  is  inharmonious  ;  and  often  the  strife  will  lead  to  harsh 
quarrelling.  At  town-meetings  it  is  the  same  thing  on 
a  larger  scale.  There  is  always  abundance  of  strife 
and  division.  Heated  discussions  always  come  up  as  to 
what  shall  be  done  with  roads,  with  schools,  with  town- 
buildings.  This  angry  heat  and  jealousy  is  a  bad  thing 
itself,  and  it  is  plain  enough  that  the  deliberations  are 
mtfch  affected  by  it.  Sometimes,  through  it,  votes  are 
passed  involving  extravagant  expenditure ;  sometimes, 
crying  abuses  go  unremedied.  The  effect  of  democratic 
institutions  is  to  give  occasion  for  confusion,  debate, 
jealousy,  between  man  and  man.  The  men,  too,  are 
your  masses,  —  men  of  the  ordinary  sort.  Of  course, 
affairs  cannot  be  wisely  or  justly  administered. 

"  Going  up  from  the  townsliips,  you  see  it  all,  on  a 
larger  scale,  in  the  government  of  the  States  ;  disputes 
between  sections  and  counties  ;  clashing  and  injustice ; 
and  want  of  economy  everywhere.  Your  legislators 
are  very  ordinary  men,  and  under  the  influence  of  bad 
passions.  Go  from  these  to  the  central  government. 
I  need  not  take  up  the  consideration  of  the  confusion, 


CLAIBORXE.  247 

the  jealousies  and  sectional  rivalry  which  rage  among 
the  very  ordinary  men  whom  the  undiscriminating  peo- 
ple send  as  representatives  ;  the  extravagance,  abuse, 
injustice,  which  come  to  prevail,  in  consequence,  in 
their  deliberations.  I  do  not  see,  Herbert,  how  you 
can  be  the  friend  of  this  disorder. 

"  We'  desire  a  far  different  state  of  things.  The 
power  will  be  in  the  hands  of  a  few,  and  those  few  the 
rich  and  cultivated.  We  shall  manage  affairs  for  the 
laboring  masses,  whose  ignorance  will  not  disturb, 
whose  unreasonable  bickering  will  not  influence,  public 
affairs.  The  reins  of  power  will  be  with  the  head  of 
society,  and  not  with  the  heels.  When  we  have  gained 
our  freedom,  we  shall  set  up  our  beneficent  aristocracy ; 
with  the  labor  done  by  the  enslaved  and  contented 
masses,  and  the  thinking  done  by  the  free  and  intelli- 
gent few.  For  an  example  of  the  order  which  will 
prevail,  take  France.  Not  that  her  institutions  through- 
out —  or  indeed  for  the  most  part  —  are  like  ours  ;  but 
in  some  respects  they  are  similar ;  in  this,  for  Instance, 
that  the  masses,  though  not  enslaved,  have  but  little 
political  power.  The  government,  though  more  con- 
centrated than  we  should  desire,  being  almost  in  the 
hands  of  a  single  autocrat,  is  yet  placed  where  there 
is  intelligence  and  ability ;  as  it  will  be  with  us.  You 
have  been  abroad,  and  you  know  how  every  thing  moves 
forward  like  clockwork.  The  intelligent  governing 
man,  through  his  agents,  does  every  thing;  the  people 
are  allowed  to  do  nothing.  All  goes  smoothly,  eco- 
nomically, without  jar  or  noise.     In  Paris  the  intelli- 


248  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

gent  governing  man  cleans  the  streets  even ;  keeps 
poverty  in  great  measure  out  of  sight ;  regulates  the 
matter  of  building ;  keeps  order  Avith  the  police.  I 
lost  my  handkerchief  one  day  in  a  hack ;  but,  the  next 
day,  found  it  at  the  office  of  the  prefect.  If  it  had 
been  a  sum  of  money,  it  would  have  been  the  same. 
These  small  matters  the  superior  wisdom  conducts  as 
well  as  the  making  of  peace  or  war  with  foreign  powers, 
and  the  other  most  important  concerns.  All  is  there- 
fore orderly,  all  beautifully  and  smoothly  managed, 
from  the  affairs  of  the  communes  up  to  the  great 
concerns  of  the  nation.  All  this  neatness,  economy, 
smoothness,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  people  have  no 
part  in  the  management  of  public  affairs.  It  is  all 
done  for  them  by  those  who  are  wiser,  who  see  farther, 
and  can  do  better,  than  the  people. 

"  That  is  France.  When  we  have  gained  our  free- 
dom, and  established  institutions  to  suit  ourselves,  to  be 
sure  they  will  not  be  those  of  France ;  and  yet,  as  it  is 
tliere,  the  masses  will  have  no  share  in  public  business. 
Indeed,  they  will  have  but  little  share  in  the  man- 
agement of  private  affairs  ;  for  they  will  be  our  slaves, 
and  every  thing  will  be  conducted  for  them  by  outside 
power.  As  it  is  there,  however,  the  power  with  us, 
too,  will  be  with  intelligence  and  ability  j  not  c-on- 
centrated  into  the  hands  of  one, — for  we  shall  not 
tolerate  an  autocracy,  —  but  in  the  hands  of  a  limited 
class,  whose  entire  harmony  among  themselves  will 
be  secured  from  the  unity  of  interest  which  there  ■will  be 
among  them  ;  a  class  with  leisure  to  becoske  thoroughly 


CLAIBORNE.  249 

intelligent.  The  result  will  be,  that  the  world  will 
behold  such  a  spectacle  of  political  peace  and  order  as 
it  never  has  seen ;  a  state  well-knit,  and  powerful  be- 
yond compare,  based,  as  never  state  has  heretofore 
been,  upon  a  wise  understanding  of  the  nature  of  man, 
and  his  condition  in  the  earth. 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  to  talk  so  long.  I  have  spun 
an  oration  here  for  you,  Herbert.  These  are  my 
convictions.  To  found  this  state,  I  am  giving  my- 
self." 

Claiborne  spoke  earnestly,  but  temperately.  They 
still  sat  there  in  the  edge  of  the  wood.  When  he  had 
ceased,  Herbert  began  :  "  I  have  been  abroad,  and  I 
admit  what  you  say  as  to  the  existence  of  a  certain  tur- 
bulence and  disorder  in  a  democratic  state,  —  quite  in 
contrast  with  the  peace,  neatness,  economy,  Avith  which 
public  affairs  seem  to  go  forward  in  a  well-administered 
despotism.  I  admit  there  is  this  drawback  to  the  in- 
stitutions to  which  I  am  attached,  —  I  am  not  disposed 
to  keep  it  out  of  sight ;  we  do  great  harm,  I  believe, 
by  the  indiscriminate  buncombe  which  we  too  often 
prefer  to  pour  out  about  our  popular  system.  But  in 
France,  which  you  instance,  I  noticed  this  :  a  wretched 
apathy  and  ignorance  in  the  masses  of  the  nation.  As 
you  say,  every  thing  is  done  for  them,  even  almost  to 
the  allotting  of  daily  tasks.  They  are  seldom  obliged 
to  feel  the  weight  of  responsibility,  —  seldom  allowed 
to  feel  it ;  and  therefore  there  is  but  little  incentive  to 
acquire  intelligence,  —  little  to  develop  in  them  self- 
reliant  manhood.     In  the  Xorthern  United  States,  on 

11* 


250  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  other  hand,  with  all  the  confusion,  did  you  make  no 
note  of  the  sturdy  life  and  independence  that  prevailed? 
Taking  even  the  poorest  citizens,  did  you  not  see  that 
there  was  no  cringing,  no  apathy?  Every  one  is  in 
some  measure  intelligent,  —  forced  to  be  so,  by  his 
position  and  the  responsibilities  that  come  upon  him. 
Every  one  is  self-reliant,  —  forced  to  be  so ;  for  he 
must  take  care  of  himself  and  his  public  affairs.  There 
is  no  power  above  him  to  take  the  responsibility  out  of 
his  hands.  The  democratic  citizen  is  rousrh  often,  no 
doubt,  in  manner ;  too  sturdy  and  self-reliant  to  be 
always  pleasant  to  meet ;  not  thoroughly  wise,  for  he 
has  to  work  with  his  hands,  and  can  only  think  and 
study  at  intervals ;  somewhat  under  the  sway  of  pas- 
sion, and  not  always  sagacious  in  his  plans:  but  still 
how  full  of  manly  power !  how  much  nobler  as  a 
human  creature,  than  a  peasant  under  a  despotism ! 
how  vastly  more  noble  than  a  slave !  There,  Clai- 
borne, I  place  the  value  of  our  institutions.  IS  govern- 
ing were  the  only  thing,  —  if  an  unbroken  public  order 
and  quiet  were  all,  institutions  where  the  entire  power 
is  lodged  in  the  hands  of  the  wise  few  might  be  j^ref- 
erable.  Then  it  might  be  the  case,  that  there  would 
be  little  clashing,  turbulence,  or  jealousy.  Where 
affairs  are  managed  by  the  masses,  —  for  the  most  part 
possessed  of  only  tolerable  good  sense  and  ordinary 
intelligence, — I  admit  there  will  often  be  injustice, 
extravagance,  the  selection  of  improper  persons  for 
offices  of  trust.  The  matter  oi  governing  goes  forward 
haltingly ;  but,  because  the  people  have  to  take  care  of 


CLAIBORXE.  251 

themselves,  take  note  of  the  grand  education  which 
comes  out  of  it  all  to  them.  It  makes  men  of  them. 
It  forces  them  into  self-reliance,  independence,  knovvl- 
edofc.  All  this  marks  the  institutions  of  the  North  as 
being  especially  grand,  and  fitted  for  human  beings. 
Through  these,  manhood  —  sturdy,  self-reliant,  self- 
providing,  weU- informed  —  is  developed  in  the  indi- 
vidual citizen,  as  it  can  be  developed  through  no  other 
system  ;  and  I  hold  to  the  belief,  that  it  is  ^  not  high- 
raised  battlements,'  nor  apparatus  of  powder  or  splendor, 
that  constitute  a  noble  state,  but  men''' 

So  Herbert  argued  the  matter ;  remembering,  as  he 
talked,  the  town-meetings  of  Meadowboro',  when  he  was 
there  in  his  wild  days,  to  which  he  went  for  curiosity. 
He  remembered  well  how  coarse  the  clothing  often  was, 
how  muddy  the  boots  of  those  sovereigns  ;  and  rough 
as  the  attire  was  often  the  speech.  Claiborne  had 
visited  Herbert  while  the  latter  was  at  Meadowboro', 
and  had  come  to  know  something  about  the  localities, 
and  some  of  the  more  striking  characters  of  the  town. 
"There  was  a  quarrel,"  said  Herbert,  bringing  up  his 
Meadowboro'  experience,  "  between  the  old  village  and 
the  one  at  the  east  ford.  There  was  harsh  feeling 
enough,  I  own ;  and  I  could  see  then,  young  as  I  was, 
the  jealousy  and  prejudice,  and  how  often  it  was  these 
qualities,  rather  than  any  desire  for  what  was  really 
justice,  that  influenced  proceedings.  But  what  a  school 
it  was  for  those  men  !  There  was  old  Bill  Smith.  In 
well-ordered  France,  he  would  have  been  a  stolid,  apa- 
thetic peasant,  with  no  self-reliance ;  uninterested,  with 


252  THE    THINKIXG   BAYONET. 

every  thing  managed  for  him.  In  your  government,  he 
would  be  a  cringing  serf  or  slave.  Town-meeting  day, 
however,  Bill  got  up  and  made  a  speech  about  the 
highways,  giving  his  plan  for  keeping  them  in  order. 
It  was  not  the  best.  Bill  is  not  very  wise,  and  is  very 
uncouth ;  but  the  fact  that  he  could  stand  up  there  and 
give  his  opinion,  and  have  the  matter  put  to  vote,  did 
no  one  can  say  how  much  toward  making  him  feel 
'self-reliant  and  manly.  Better,  a  great  deal,  that  the 
roads  should  be  a  little  out  of  repair,  — that  matters 
generally  should  go  a  little  haltingly,  —  than  that  Bill, 
and  such  as  he,  should  be  denied  these  influences  !  So, 
too,  Elnathan  Swift,  the  small  farmer  on  Morse's 
Mountain,  had  his  rough  say  in  the  matter  of  schools  ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  when  he  unhitched  his  old 
mare,  at  the  end  of  the  meeting,  and  drove  home,  he 
felt  like  vastly  more  of  a  man  because  he  had  taken  his 
part  in  the  speaking  and  voting, — felt  more  self-respect, 
more  obligation  to  post  himself,  more  patriotism,  be- 
cause he  had  a  hand  in  public  aflPairs." 

Herbert  was  not  sorry  to  argue  the  matter  with 
Claiborne.  Claiborne  had  spoken,  and  so  far  he  had 
only  spoken,  of  the  effect  of  their  respective  systems 
upon  the  masses.  "But,"  Herbert  said,  "there  is  an- 
other matter.  You  want  power,  absolute  power,  to 
be  in  the  hands  of  a  few,  —  the  limited  class  to  which 
you  belong.  Do  you  dare  to  take  such  power  into 
your  hands?  Do  you  not  fear  the  consequences  to 
yourselves  ?  A  wiser  than  you  or  I  has  written  how  it 
is  that  — 


CLAIBORNE.  253 

" '  Man,  proud  man, 
Dressed  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  Heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weep.' 

You  would  have  your  authority  neither  little  nor  brief. 
Is  it  not  dangerous  to  yourselves?  I.  speak  plainly, 
Claiborne.  I  hold  you  to  be  of  noble  soul,  in  many 
ways  ;  but  I  see  upon  your  nature,  plain  as  the  black- 
ness upon  the  white  beauty  of  the  moon,  the  foul  blot 
which  has  come  to  He  there,  from  this  very  cause.  As 
I  recall  our  past  association,  I  remember  this.  It  was 
this  which  brought  me  here,  and  in  a  soldier's  garb,  to 
do  what  I  might  to  prevent  the  establishing  of  so  con- 
taminating a  system.  This  blot  I  have  seen  upon  you 
this  very  day ;  so  terrible,  that  I  feared,  at  first,  I 
could  henceforth  only  think  of  you  with  loathing. 
Such  terrible,  intemperate  wrath  !  to  slay  in  cold  blood 
a  sick,  unarmed  man;  helpless,  in  your  power,  —  and 
then  kick  the  corse  !  " 

Claiborne  started,  crying,  "No  more, — no  more!" 
Herbert  could  see  by  the  starlight  that  he  was  full  of 
anger.  "  We  shall  lay  hands  on  one  another  if  we  go 
further,"  he  said.  Already  his  hand  was  on  his  pistol- 
handle,  falhng  there,  as  if  by  habit,  almost  without 
his  knowledge.  "  Come,  let  us  go  back,"  he  said,  after 
a  struggle,  "  and  stop  the  talk." 

As  they  walked  on  in  silence,  Herbert  thought  as 
follows  :  "  I  have  seen  barbarity  enough  committed  by 
men  in  the  Federal  uniform,  —  deeds  perhaps  as  ter- 
rible as  this  of  which  Claiborne    is   guilty ;   but  they 


254  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

were  committed  by  men  but  lately  come  to  our  shores, 
with  their  ignorance  unbroken,  or  by  those  who,  in 
a  peaceful  time,  would  be  felons  ;  men  whom  we  can 
in  no  way  admit  as  representing  the  Northern  temper 
and  spirit.  This  shooting  of  Hubbard  is  a  barbarity 
committed  by  one  educated  under  the  choicest  influences 
of  Southern  civilization,  —  by  one,  in  breeding  and 
culture,  to  be  classed  among  the  first  gentlemen  of  the 
South ;  a  brave,  generous-spirited  soul,  in  many  ways  ; 
one  whom  the  South  would  be  proud  to  have  stand  as 
her  representative." 


APRIL.  255 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

APRIL. 

By  day  often,  Claiborne  was  in  the  camp ;  yet  never 
recognizing  Herbert  by  any  sign  which  others  noticed. 
By  night,  however,  it  often  happened  that  he  came 
silently ;  and  the  two  went  forth  together  as  they  had 
done  at  first.  Sometimes  they  spoke  of  Holyoake ; 
"one  of  your  most  promising  generals,"  said  Clai- 
borne :  "  you  have  few  that  we  fear  more  than  we  fear 
him."  —  "Give  me  your  parole,  Herbert,"  Claiborne 
said,  soon  after  their  intercourse  began,  "and  you  shall 
be  free ;  you  shall  be  at  ease,  and  fare  as  well  as  we 
do;  which,  indeed,  at*  another  time,  would  be  prison 
fare."  But  Herbert  steadfastly  refused.  "  My  place 
now  is  in  the  Federal  ranks,  with  arms  in  my  hands," 
he  said:  "if  there  is  opportunity,  I  shall  escape. 
Then  can  I  be  easy  to  fare  better  than  my  comrades  ? 
I  can  do  something,  by  remaining  among  them,  to 
maintain  their  fortitude  perhaps,  and  soothe  the  sick." 
So  Herbert  stayed  in  his  place.  Claiborne  gave  to  him 
lavishly  from  his  scanty  purse.  "  My  father  is  dead," 
said  he ;  "  your  forces  have  utterly  ravaged  my  plan- 
tation, and  hold  it  in  their  hands  ;  my  private  resources 


256  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

are  entirely  destroyed.  I  have  only  my  pay  as  colonel, 
which,  in  our  deteriorated  currency,  is  a  scanty  pittance 
enough ;  but  I  will  share  it  with  you.  Help  your 
fellows  here  :  I  wish  I  could  do  more  for  them,  but  I 
am  under  orders." 

So  Claiborne,  wdth  real  tenderness,  gave  help ;  and 
Herbert  was  the  almoner  of  this  bounty  to  the  prisoners 
around  him :  a  coat  for  one,  taken  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, who  went  shivering  through  the  cold,  damp 
nights ;  delicate  food,  here  and  there,  for  the  sick ;  a 
dearly-bought  fragment  of  carpet,  by  way  of  blanket, 
to  cover  one  who  had  fever.  At  length,  one  evening, 
as  often  before,  Claiborne  came  to  Herbert ;  and  the  two 
went  together  past  the  guard,  and  walked  alone.  "I 
am  well  enough  at  last  to  take  the  field  again,"  said 
Claiborne,  "  and  am  ordered  back  to  my  regiment  at 
the  front.  To-morrow  I  transfer  my  command  to  an 
invalid'  officer,  in  the  situation  in  which  I  was  when  I 
assumed  this  command.  I  do  not  want  to  leave  you 
here  to  sicken  and  die ;  I  cannot  take  you  with  me ;  I 
cannot  be  easy  to  think  of  you  as  languishing  here : 
give  me  your  parole,  and  I  can  put  you  in  a  situation 
where  you  can  be  more  comfortable."  But  Herbert 
refused  as  before  :  "  My  place  now  is  in  the  Federal 
ranks  ;  and,  if  I  have  opportunity,  I  shall  escape." 

The  stars  were  clouded  now,  as  Herbert  walked  by 
Claiborne's  side,  with  mind  and  heart  full.  He  thought : 
''  He  is  what  he  has  always  been, — magnanimous,  brave, 
lavish  ;  with  the  same  barbarian  fierceness,  which  does 
.not  stop  at  terrible  cruelty  ;  the  same  obtuseness,  which 


APEIL.  257 

prevents  his  recognizing  his  cruelty  as  something  de- 
testable :  only  now,  these  characteristics  seem  to  have 
struck  deeper  into  his  nature  with  advancing  life ;  or 
perhaps  it  is,  that  these  grave  times  give  opportunity 
for  their  more  remarkable  exhibition.  He  gives  me 
succor ;  shows  me  tender  friendship :  he  is  noble, 
after  all !  "  But  with  the  thought  came  the  memory 
of  Hubbard,  —  shot  there  in  cold  blood,  defenceless 
and  sick ;  and  the  insult  to  the  corse  of  the  brave, 
defiant  youth.  The  same  man  had  done  these  things. 
"So  inconsistent !  "  Herbert  thought ;  " so  fantastic, 
unsatisfactory  ! "  He  believed  that  the  foulness  all 
came  from  the  circumstances  under  which  Claiborne 
had  been  nurtured,  and  felt  stronger  than  ever  in  his 
purpose  to  do  what  one  man  might  to  crush  out  the 
things  that  brought  such  ruin  upon  noble  men.  So 
Herbert  thought  as  they  walked,  brushing  with  his 
arm,  as  it  swung  to  and  fro,  Claiborne's  gray,  empty 
sleeve.  And  now  they  had  crossed  the  line  of  the 
sentries,  and  were  on  the  edge  of  the  prisoners'  camp. 
"Farewell,  Herbert."— "Fare weU."  Hands  for  a  mo- 
ment on  one  another's  shoulders  ;  bearded  faces,  damp 
with  the  rain  now  falling,  coming 'together  under  the 
dark  in  a  kiss ;  then  Claiborne  went  back. 

Herbert  stood  for  a  moment  in  his  place ;  then  sud- 
(ianly  thought  of  some  comfort  needed  by  a  sick  soldier 
in  his  charge,  —  something  which  he  might  obtain  from 
Claiborne,  but  which  probably  could  not  be  got  when 
he  had  gone.  Theii'  parting  bad  taken  place  within  a 
few  paces  of  the  sentries'  beat.     "  Claiborne  can  hardly 


258  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

have  crossed  the  line,"  thought  Herbert ;  and  he  stepped 
hurriedly  forward  in  the  gloom,  believing  that  he  could 
lay  his  hand  on  Claiborne's  shoulder  in  a  moment.  A 
few  steps  brought  him  upon  the  guard,  marching  watch- 
fully to  and  fro.  Claiborne's  retreating  figure  was  visible 
here,  just  beyond  the  line,  in  the  dim  light  of  a  fire 
that  smouldered  near  in  spite  of  the  falling  rain.  The 
sentinel  had  seen  Herbert  pass  in,  just  before,  in  com- 
pany with  his  commander;  and,  as  the  sergeant  motioned 
toward  Claiborne,  his  face  took  on  a  look  of  hesitation, 
and  he  made  no  resistance  as  Herbert  passed  his  beat. 
Claiborne  was  moving  rapidly ;  and  the  sergeant,  fol- 
lowing, tripped  suddenly,  and  fell.  "When  he  rose,  the 
figure  had  gone.  He  went  a  few  steps  ;  but  there  was 
no  trace.  He  did  not  like  to  call.  The  mist  was  thick 
about  him  as  he  stood  wondering  what  direction  to  take. 
After  movins:  to  and  fro,  he  concluded  that  he  had  lost 
him,  and  turned  to  go  toward  the  camp.  Suddenly  the 
thought  occurred  to  his  mind,  "Why  return?  have  I 
not  here  the  very  opportunity  to  escape  for  which  I  have 
longed  ? "  He  gave  one  thought  to  his  languisliing 
comrades ;  to  the  sick,  over  whose  clammy  brows  he 
was  wont  to  pass  Ins  palms,  —  to  whose  hps,  fluttering 
in  delirium,  he  held  the  cup.  He  questioned  whether 
it  were  not  ignoble  desertion;  but,  "No,"  he  said,  in 
his  mind ;  "  I  only  seek  release,  to  go  anew  into  hard- 
ship and  peril." 

Herbert  hurried  forward  by  the  path  which  had 
become  familiar  to  him  in  his  walks  with  Claiborne. 
He  knew  the  ground  so  well,  that  he  easily  avoided  all 


APRIL.  259 

dangers  until  he  came  upon  the  outer  line  of  pickets 
which  environed  the  town.  As  he  approached  this  line, 
he  crept  cautiously  forward  until  he  was  close  upon  a 
sentinel,,  who,  wrapped  up  against  the  inclemency  of  the 
night,  marched  back  and  forth.  Watching  his  chance, 
when  the  soldier's  back  was  turned,  Herbert  sprang 
lightly  across  the  track  beaten  by  his  footsteps,  and 
hurried  silently  forward.     He  was  fairly  out  of  prison. 

Though  fortunate  thus  far,  Herbert  felt  that  his 
difficulties  had  only  begun ;  he  knew  that  he  must  go 
far  before  he  could  reach  any  Federal  camp.  Probably 
columns  of  hostile  troops  moved  to  and  fro  through  the 
territory  he  must  cross;  and,  of  course,  the  whites  would 
be  unfriendly.  He  felt,  however,  that  he  could  trust 
the  negroes.  He  went  forward, — by  day  lurking  in 
concealment;  by  night  pressing  on  as  he  could,  di- 
recting his  course  by  the  stars,* and  now  and  then 
assuring  himself  by  appealing  to  some  negro.  In  two 
or  three  days  he  had  accomplished  some  scores  of 
miles  on  his  way  forward ;  but  there  was  still  a  con- 
siderable distance  to  go.  His  road,  too,  was  now  more 
likely  to  be  beset  with  perils  ;  for  a  rebel  army  was 
posted  opposite  the  Federal  force  he  was  trying  to 
reach,  whose  scouts  were  everywhere ;  and  wanderers 
were  more  likely  to  be  sharply  questioned,  than  farther 
back  in  the  interior. 

One  day,  Herbert  lay  concealed  not  far  from  a  plan- 
tation. He  marked  carefully  the  location  of  the  negro- 
cabins  in  the  rear  ;  and,  when  darkness  had  fallen,  made 
his  way  cautiously  toward  those  most  remote  from  the 


260  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

mansion.  As  he  came  near,  he  heard  loud  sinixino: 
from  a  hut  in  which  there  was  a  light;  and,  looking 
through  a  chink  between  the  logs,  where  the  cement  of 
clay  had  fallen  out,  he  saw  what  was  going  forward. 
A  company  of  negroes  sat  crowded  together  upon  rough 
seats,  of  boards  ;  a  poor  candle  gave  the  light.  It  was 
plainly  a  religious  meeting.  At  first,  every  thing  went 
on  with  decorum.  The  prayer,  by  a  burly ,negro,  was 
reverent  and  proper,  though  incoherent ;  the  singing, 
not  without  melody.  From  a  tattered  hymn-book,  the 
negro  gave  a  couplet  of  lines,  which  the  crowd  then 
sang.  The  notes  were  but  few,  and  long  drawn  out ; 
but  the  voices  often  were  rich  and  strong.  An  address 
was  then  given,  brief  and  rude  ;  after  which,  a  wild 
ceremony  took  place.  The  conductor  of  the  meeting,  in 
the  centre,  —  supported  by  two  or  three  others  whose 
office  seemed  to  be  'to  keep  up  the  strength  and  excite- 
ment of  their  principal,  — led  off  in  a  hymn  of  brisker 
movement.  It  was,  for  the  most  part,  unintelligible ; 
though,  every  line  or  two,  the  words  occurred,  "  O 
brothers  ! "  or  "  O  sisters  !  ain't  you  goin'  to  meet  me 
on  Canaan's  happy  shore?"  The  audience  had  risen, 
and,  thronging  about  their  leader,  were  vigorously 
shaking  hands,  keeping  time  with  the  movement  of  the 
song;  and,  little  by  little,  coming  to  use  feet  as  well  as 
arms.  The  song  grew  wilder  and  louder ;  and  the 
forms,  from  gently  swaying  in  time  Avith  the  music, 
became  more  energetically  active  ;  the  simple  rhythmic 
movement  gradually  became  an  excited  dance.  The 
company  was  crowded  together  into  a  circle,  one  close 


APRIL.  261 

behind  another, — men  and  women,  with  a  beat  and 
shuffle  of  the  feet  in  time  with  the  air,  which  each 
minute  became  more  and  more  excited.  A  black  boy, 
on  one  side,  standing  on  a  bench,  held  up  the  unsnuffed 
candle.  For  the  most  part,  the  room  was  in  gloom ; 
and,  out  of  the  dim  spaces  into  the  faint  ray,  the 
shouting  figures  came  dancing  in  their  turn ;  the  candle, 
as  Herbert  could  see,  shining  now  upon  the  grizzled 
head  and  beard  of  an  old  man ;  now,  upon  the  squat, 
broad  form  of  a  woman ;  now,  on  a  muscular  boy  : 
all  square- shouldered,  thick-lipped,  flat-nosed,  with 
complexions  of  the  sootiest  black.  They  were,  plainly, 
plantation  hands,  — negroes  of  the  more  ignorant  class. 
The  negro  in  the  centre,  at  length  becoming  quite 
frenzied,  almost  shouted ;  now  singing,  now  with  a 
scream  inciting  the  crowd.  Perspiration  poured  from 
his  face  ;  his  eyes  stared  ;  his  whole  figure  was  in  violent 
action. 

It  was  plain,  that  most  of  the  hands  were  collected 
at  the  meeting ;  and  Herbert  judged,  that  the  time  was 
favorable  for  him  to  procure  what  he  needed.  Some 
few,  probably,  would  be  left  in  the  cabins,  and  he 
might  approach  them  with  no  danger  of  attracting  a 
crowd.  One  hut  stood  away  from  the  rest,  ^ill  farther 
remote  from  the  mansion  than  the  one  which  was  so 
thronged.  This  he  cautiously  approached.  The  door 
was  open  ;  upon  the  hearth  within  burned  a  few  embers, 
which  cast  a  dim,  red  light  upon  the  log  walls  and  the 
coarse,  scanty  furniture  ;  it  revealed,  also,  the  figure  of 
a  female,  couched  motionless  on  the  hearth  before  the 


262  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

coals,  with  head  wrapped  in  a  turban.  "Herbert  looked 
warily,  to  be  sure  that  she  was  alone  in  the  hut.  At 
length,  he  quietly  stepped  in,  and  accosted  her;  he  asked 
for  food.  As  he  ceased,  she  sprung  up  suddenly,  —  a 
tall  mulattress,  —  looked  into  his  face  a  moment,  then 
hurried  out  of  the  hut,  beckoning  to  him  to  follow.  He 
obeyed  her  gesture,  walking  fast  to  keep  up  with  the 
rapid  pace  of  his  conductress.  They  left  the  neigh- 
borhood of  tlie  huts,  and  plunged  into  the  wood 
near  by.  * 

At  length  the  woman  paused.  "  I  know  what  you 
are,"  she  said,  speaking  rapidly,  with  but  little  of  the 
negro  peculiarity.  "  You  are  a  prisoner  trying  to  get 
away.  You  don't  show  it  in  your  clothes,  but  you  do 
in  your  face  and. voice,  that  you  are  from  the  North." 
Herbert  had  happened  to  come  upon  a  woman  whose 
position  had  been  that  of  a  house-servant,  once  some- 
what trusted.  She  had  been-  Xorth  with  her  owner  at 
some  time  in  her  life.  For  some  disobedience,  she  had 
been  sold,  to  work  as  a  plantation  hand.  "  I  took  you 
away,"  she  said,  "  because  it  is  quite  likely  there  may  be 
overseers  on  the  watch,  and  the  blacks  themselves  are 
not  all  trusty.  Stay  here  a  minute,  and  I  will  be 
back."  Herbert  remained  in  the  bushes,  and  presently 
heard  her  footsteps  again.  She  brought  him  an  abun- 
dant meal  of  hoecake  and  pork,  and  sat  by  him  while 
he  satisfied  his  hunger.  "I  will  help  you  all  I  can," 
she  said,  "  for  the  sake  of  the  flag  you  fight  under." 
Then  she  told  him  that  they  were  closely  watched,  but 
that  two  negro  men  had  resolved  to  try  to  escape  to  the 


APRIL.  263 

Federal  lines.  •  They  had  fixed  upon  the  night  following 
for  the  attempt.  "  They  know  the  country,"  said  the 
woman,  "  and  will  take  you  with  them  if  you  choose  to 
go.     I  will  bring  them  to  you." 

The  woman  went  away  again,  and,  after  an  interval, 
returned,  bringing  two  men.     The  younger,  apparently 
about  twenty-six,   Herbert  could   see,   dark  though   it 
was,  had  features  not  of  the  pure  negro  type,  and  a' 
light  skin.     He  was  dressed  in  a  coat,  roughly  made 
from  a  piece  of  bright-colored  ingrain .  carpeting  ;    and, 
it  was  plain,   was  very  conceited.     He  had   been   his 
master's  hunter,  professed  familiarity  with  weapons  and 
woodcraft,  and  said  he  was  "  his  massa's  brag  man." 
He  gave   an   account    of   an    appeal   which   had   been 
made  to  him  to  hunt  for  Yankee  prisoners,  w^hen,  once 
before,  a  considerable  number  had  escaped.     "Massa 
Huguenin  ask  his  boys  if  dey  will  fight  de  Yankees. 
Bey  say  dey  will,  but  dey  all  say  dat  Joe  mus'  be  de 
leader ;   for  he  be  de  mos'  smartes'  nigger  of  de  lot." 
Huguenin,  Joe  says,  told  them  he  would  give  twenty 
dollars  for  each  right  ear  of  a  Yankee  they  w^ould  bring 
in.     Joe  told  his  master  he  was  good  for  ten  a  day; 
and,  "  All  de  time,"  he  said,  "  I  was  boun'  to  run  de 
fust  chance."     Joe   seemed   smart,   but   conceited   and 
tricky.     Herbert  doubted  his  trustworthiness,  but  was 
much  more  pleased  with  April,  his  companion ;  a  man 
not  tall,  but  of  prodigious  muscular  power,  thoroughly 
black,  reticent,  but  with  an  air  of  manliness  and  self- 
respect.     Unlike  Joe,  he  was  no  braggart ;  but  Joe,  in 
an  aside  to  Herbert,  found  opportunity  to  let  him  know 


264  THE    THIXKING   BAYONET. 

that  Aj^ril  had  been  a  kind  of  outlaw,  intractable  as  a 
laborer,  and  often  a  fugitive.  "  De  slave-hunters  say, 
ole  April  be  de  schemiest  nigger  dey  eber  chase."  He 
was  dressed  in  the  loose  dress  of  a  field  hand,  the  shirt 
tattered  about  his  heavy  breast.  Herbert  asked  him 
why  he  chose  to  run  the  risk  of  trying  to  escape. 
With  dignity,  he  straightened  himself,  put  out  his  hand 
in  an  emphatic  manner,  and  with  firmness  said  :  "  I  tell 
you  what,  massa ;  dis  boy  he  work,  but  he  no  work 
under  de  whip ;  and  when  dey  bring  de  lash  to  ole 
April,  he  take  to  de  woods."  Herbert  was  wUling  to 
cast  his  lot  with  April,  but  distrusted  Joe.  The  two, 
however,  had  determined  to  go  together ;  and  there 
seemed  no  other  way  but  to  go  with  them. 

These  men  were  familiar  with  the  road  they  must 
follow,  and  professed  to  have  some  knowledge  of  the 
disposition  of  the  rebel  forces.  Joe,  indeed,  drew  upon 
the  ground  a  rough  chart  of  the  country,  its  creeks, 
swamps,  and  hills  ;  then  marked  the  location  of  differ- 
ent bodies  of  men,  told  the  number  at  diflferent  points, 
their  character  as  to  discipline  and  general  morale,  as 
if  he  were  fully  in  the  confidence  of  the  rebel  com- 
mander. 

The  following  night  was  the  time  fixed  upon.  Her- 
bert lay  concealed  during  the  day,  in  the  woods,  liberally 
supplied  with  food  by  the  negroes,  and  getting  rest, 
which  he  needed  much.  Soon  after  nightfall,  with  Joe 
and  April,  he  began  to  make  his  way  forward.  April 
had  obtained  a  double-barrelled  gun  in  some  way. 
Herbert  found  that  the  great  fear  of  his  companions 


APriL.  265 

was  lest  they  should  be  tracked  by  a  certain  "  ole  Ket- 
tle," whom  he  discovered  to  be  the  professional  slave- 
hunter  of  that  region,  letting  his  services,  and  those  of 
a  pack  of  hounds  which  he  kept,  to  chase  fugitives. 
For  days  now,  their  life  was  one  of  watching  by  day, 
and  tramping  by  night ;  swimming  the  creek,  and  lurk- 
ing in  the  marsh ;  dodging  the  serpent,  only  to  fall 
into  the  path  of  the  alligator  ;  and  escaping  both,  only 
to  hear  the  near  gallop  of  white  pursuers.  At  night- 
fall, sometimes  they  scouted  cautiously  up  to  negro 
cabins,  and  were  invariably  supplied  with  such  fc^od  as 
the  negroes  had  to  give.  Night  after  night,  in  the  dis- 
tance, they  heard  the  baying  of  bloodhounds,  —  a  sound 
at  which  April  would  shudder ;  he  had  already  upon 
him  deep  scars  made  by  their  teeth,  when  overtaken 
once  in  a  previous  attempt  ta  escape. 

But,  by  turning  and  winding  in  damp  morasses, 
wading  long  through  the  muddy  margins  of  streams, 
and  sometimes  smearing  themselves  with  turpentine,  — 
a  little  stock  of  which  the  negroes  carried,  and  which 
they  appeared  to  consider  invaluable  as  a  means  of 
destroying  the  scent,  —  the  fugitives,  day  after  day, 
puzzled  "  ole  Kettle,"  and  made  progress  toward  free- 
dom. The  "  cotton  mouth  "  and  "  moccason  "  almost 
became  their  familiar  friends,  deadly  miasma  was  the 
air  they  breathed,  the  poisonous  vine  was  their  canopy. 
Joe  lost  his  spirits,  and  became  repentant.  April 
however,  silent  and  stern,  maintained  a  resolute  mind. 
Herbert  submitted  all  to  him,  following  obediently 
every  direction  of  his  black  guide.     April  was  worthy 

12 


266  THE    THIXKIXG   BAYOXET. 

of  the  confidence.  For  every  difficulty  he  had  a  re- 
source. Fatigue  never  seemed  to  touch  his  great 
limbs.  He  shuddered  indeed  at  the  baying  of  the 
hounds,  but  it  was  not  fear ;  for,  when  they  seemed  to 
come  close,  April  would  go  back  toward  the  danger, 
his  gun  cocked  and  aslant  in  his  hands,  across  his 
breast,  showing  so  powerful  through  the  tatters  of 
his  shirt,  eagerly  listening,  with  face  bent  forward,  and 
ready  to  shoot. 

One  morning,  Herbert  suddenly  was  startled  from 
sleep  at  the  root  of  a  huge  log,  by  the  terrible  baying, 
close  at  hand.  April,  too,  sprang  up  at  the  same  time. 
The  faithless  Joe,  left  to  watch,  had  also  slumbered ; 
and  the  hounds,  following  the  scent,  were  suddenly 
close  upon  them.  Before  they  could  fly,  the  creatures, 
w^ith  long  ears  and  deep  chests,  sending  far  their  heavy 
baying,  came  bounding  toward  them.  "  Shoot,  April !" 
said  Herbert ;  but  April  waited  for  a  more  favorable 
time.  The  three  fugitives  stood  at  the  end  of  the  log. 
On  came  the  pack,  several  hounds  together  mounting 
the  log.  April,  with  cautious  aim,  sent  the  charge 
from  both  barrels  into  the  midst,  killing  two,  and 
wounding  others,  so  that  they  lay  kicking  and  yelping 
among  the  leaves.  "  Dat  make  de  rest  scairt,  I 
reckon,"  said  April,  with  a  laugh  :  then  the  three  has- 
tened into  the  woods  ;  for  they  knew  that  horsemen 
must  be  close  at  hand.  Reaching  a  stream,  they  plunged 
to  the  shoulders  into  the  water,  putting  up  their  heads 
for  breath,  among  thick-growing  reeds,  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  shore. 


APRIL.  267 

Presently,  riding  along  the  bank,  came  a  group  of 
horsemen,  —  the  slave-hunter,  and  a  squad  of  guerilla 
cavalry ;  for  it  had  become  known  in  some  way,  that 
an  escaped  prisoner  was  with  the  negroes.  The  slave- 
hunter  was  in  a  rage  over  the  loss  of  his  hounds,  — 
"  worth  a  hundred  dollars  apiece."  They  beat  the 
woods  and  bank  everywhere,  but  in  vain.  The  hounds, 
cowed  for  the  time  by  the  fate  of  those  that  April  had 
shot,  were  of  no  service.  Often  they  were  within  a 
few  yards  of  where  the  three  men,  with  shoulders  just 
above  water,  scarcely  breathed.  At  length,  they 
turned  and  rode  away  ;  when  April,  with  a  broad  grin 
on  his  face,  usually  so  grave,  waded  with  his  party  to 
the  shore,  the  three  dripping  with  wet  and  mud.  Her- 
bert turning,  saw  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream,  a 
few  rods  off,  a  huge  alligator  fourteen  feet  long,  wallow- 
ing through  the  mud  to  the  water,  while  another  came 
swiftly  swimming  through  the  river,  the  ripples  flowing 
out  behind  the  horse- Uke  head.  April  had  managed 
to  keep  his  powder  dry,  by  holding  the  pouch  in  his 
teeth.     He  set  to  work  at  once  to  dry  and  clean  his  gun. 

But  the  pursuit  was  not  given  over.  Joe  was  more 
than  ever  cast  down ;  April  remained  stern,  wary, 
reticent;  Herbert,  though  he  felt  his  strength  failing 
through  the  exposure  and  anxiety,  still  held  firm, — 
obedient  as  a  child  to  the  dusky  Ulysses,  whose  courage 
and  wiles  and  resources  were  bringing  them  every  day 
nearer  and  nearer  to  freedom.  Sometimes  now,  along 
the  roads,  they  heard  the  gallop  of  cavalry ;  and,  one 
morning,  low  and  deep  through  the  air,  came  throbbing 


268  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  intermittent  beat ;  then,  the  long-draA'STi  roll  of  far- 
away drums, —  felt  rather  than  heard;  now,  a  throb; 
now,  a  pause  ;  now,  a  roll.  It  struck  intermittently 
upon  the  ear,  as  strikes  the  pulse  of  a  man  near  to 
death  upon  the  palm  of  a  watcher.  April's  face  glowed. 
It  was  from  the  camp  of  a  rebel  force,  and  they  knew 
it  must  be  posted  near  the  front.  The  last  dangers 
were  at  hand  :  these  once  passed,  and  there  was  safety 
and  freedom. 

Although  Joe  had  nearly  brought  destruction  upon 
them  through  unfaithfulness,  there  was  no  way  but  to 
allow  him  still  to  take  his  turn  in  watching ;  if  it  was 
done  by  April  and  Herbert  entirely,  they  could  not  get 
the  sleep  which  the  exhausting  experience  required. 
Once  Herbert  finished  his  watch,  and  aroused  Joe  for 
his  turn  ;  he  himself  lay  down  near  April.  He  awoke 
at  last  through  hearing  Joe  talking  in  a  menacing  voice. 
Making  the  effort  to  start  up,  he  found  himself  bound 
hand  and  foot.  The  treacherous  negro  had  cut  his  coat 
into  strij^s,  which  he  had  twisted,  and  with  these  Her- 
bert found  his  legs  and  arms  closely  confined ;  he  could 
only  turn  his  head  toward  April.  He  saw  with  sinking 
heart  that  April  was  in  a  similar  plight;  while  Joe 
stood  over  him  with  the  gun. 

Joe  had  become  discouraged,  and  resolved  to  turn 
back.  To  make  his  peace  with  their  pursuers,  he  had 
hit  upon  this  expedient :  he  meant  to  force  April  back 
with  him,  and  deliver  him  up  ;  then  conduct  a  party  to 
find  Herbert.  The  negro  coolly  announced  his  deter- 
mination.    Herbert    found    that   he  was   too    securely 


APRIL.  269 

bound  to  free  himself;  his  sleep  had  been  so  deep,  that 
Joe  had  been  able  to  do  his  work  thoroughly.  April's 
legs  were  free,  the  arms  only  being  pinioned.  Joe  put 
the  muzzle  of  the  piece  to  April's  temple,  and  ordered 
him  to  rise.  He  was  in  Joe's  power,  so  he  stood  upon 
his  feet.  Joe  with  care  bound  the  wrists  in  front  and 
the  elbows  behind  more  stoutly ;  then  came  to  Herbert, 
and  tightened  the  cords  until  they  were  painful.  Her- 
bert's heart  was  full  of  agony  for  April  as  well  as  for 
himself.  Joe  imagined  he  could  go  forward  more 
speedily  with  one  than  with  both,  so  Herbert  was  left. 
Herbert  sent  a  sad  farewell  after  April,  as  Joe,  with 
gun  cocked,  drove  him  before  him  through  the  woods  : 
death  was  the  only  thing  the  brave  fellow  could  expect. 
He  said  himself,  quietly,  for  the  last  thing  :  "  Dey'll  say 
now,  deygot  no  use  for  ole  April,  alive  :  only  make  de 
rest  oneasy."  Herbert  saw  them  go  :  his  tattered,  mud- 
smeared  friend  disappearing  among  the  trees,  and  the 
traitor  behind ;  then  the  crackling  of  twigs,  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  silence  at  last.  He  lay  for  hours,  hopeless, 
wondering  when  he  should  hear  the  hoof-beats  of  the 
party  that  Joe  would  bring  back.  At  length,  he  did 
hear  a  sound,  —  not  a  hoof-beat,  but  a  human  footfall, 
—  nearer  and  nearer,  coming  cautiously,  as  if  some  one. 
were  following  a  trail  that  he  was  not  quite  sure  of.  In 
a  moment,  April  himself,  gun  in  hand,  and  unbound, 
came  toward  him.  Herbert's  cords  were  cut  in  an 
instant;  and,  with  a  bounding  heart,  he  listened  to 
April's  story.  Joe,  it  seemed,  as  they  marched  along, 
became  careless  in  his  feeling  of  security.     At  last,  he 


270  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

went  in  front,  having  confidence  in  the  cords,  with 
April  following  behind.  April,  patiently  working, 
contrived  to  pick  apart  the  coarse  fibre  of  the  strips  at 
the  wrists,  so  that  his  hands  were  free  ;  then,  throwing 
his  elbows  forcibly  back,  the  bands  behind  fell  to  the 
ground.  In  an  instant,  with  his  poVverful  fists  clenched, 
Joe  was  felled  to  the  earth,  the  gun  seized  and  pointed  at 
his  head.  "Lor,  how  dat  feller  beg  !  "  said  April,  with 
a  grim  smile.  Foully  as  he  had  behaved,  April,  with  no 
little  magnanimity,  spared  his  life  ;  only  making  him 
promise,  "dat  he'd  never  trap  anoder  nigger."  He 
simply  bound  him  in  the  same  cords  from  which  he  had 
freed  himself,  and  left  him  to  be  found  by  those  who 
should  follow  with  the  hounds.  It  was  a  great  risk ; 
for  he  might  be  found  at  once,  and  would  no  doubt  set 
the  hunters  on  the  track  of  Herbert  and  April.  April, 
however,  thought  they  could  gain  start  enough  to  avoid 
them.  Herbert,  while  he  felt  anxious,  appreciated, 
with  all  the  force  of  an  honorable  soul,  this  knightly 
nobleness  in  his  dark,  untutored  comrade. 

AVhile  April  had  been  giving  his  account,  they  were 
hurrying  forward.  It  was  not  much  farther  now, 
April  said,  hopefully.  One  more  day  they  lay  quiet ; 
then,  pushing  forward  through  the  night,  before  dawn 
they  came  to  the  bank  of  a  stream.  April  stood  joy- 
fully upon  the  shore,  telling  Herbert  that,  not  far 
onward,  it  emptied  into  an  arm  of  the  sea,  —  a  branch 
of  a  harbor  in  which  lay  a  powerful  Federal  fleet. 
They  slept  again ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  their  slumber, 
the   air   aroimd    them    shook,  pervaded  with   a   deep, 


APRIL.  271 

roar,  —  a  jar  rather  than  a  sound,  —  felt 
rather  than  heard :  it  was  the  thunder  of  the  Federal 
cannon,  from  the  sea. 

At  night  again,  Herbert  and  April  went  plunging 
through  the  thickets  that  bordered  the  stream ;  until  at 
length  they  heard  the  splash  of  oars.  They  stood  quiet 
in  the  darkness.  They  could  see,  at  last,  a  boat 
approaching  from  above,  with  a  solitary  figure.  It 
hugged  the  shore  closely  :  the  figure  seeming  to  wish 
the  screen  of  its  heavy  foliage.  April  crept  noise- 
lessly out  upon  the  trunk  of  a  great  live-oak,  that 
stretched  far  over  the  stream  ;  the  boat  came  slowly 
down,  —  the  oars  dipping  with  caution.  As  it  came 
within  the  shadow  of  the  live-oak,  the  gunwale  was 
suddenly  grasped  by  April's  powerful  hand,  and  pulled 
shoreward.  Before  the  oarsman  could  rise,  Herbert, 
rushing  waist-deep  into  the  stream,  had  pinioned  his 
arms,  throwing  his  own  arms  about  his  body.  The 
boat  was  drawn  ashore,  and  the  captive  examined;  he 
proved  to  be  a  fugitive,  like  themselves,  —  a  mulatto 
of  about  fifty  ;  Adam  by  name.  He  told  his  story  in 
a  few  words  :  he  was  the  son  of  a  Scotchman,  owned 
by  his  own  half-brother ;  he  was  a  carpenter ;  he  had 
escaped  from  a  populous  town  some  distance  back,  and 
made  his  way  thus  far  in  safety.  He  was  startled 
enough  by  his  sudden  arrest,  and  overjoyed  when  he 
found  into  whose  hands  he  had  fallen.  The  boat  was 
large  enough  for  all ;  so,  presently,  the  three  were 
embarked  again,  and  slipping  rapidly  and  quietly  for- 
ward under  the  night. 


272  THE   THENKING  BAYONET. 

One  more  danger  was  to  be  passed.  As  day  broke, 
they  hauled  the  boat  ashore,  under  what  seemed  secure 
shelter.  Adam  remained  in  the  boat,  while  Herbert 
and  April  Went  on  shore.  Fatigued,  and  thinking  now 
that  they  were  so  far  on  their  way  they  need  hardly 
fear,  they  all  slept;  when,  suddenly,  close  at  hand, 
they  heard  the  crackling  of  brush  and  the  shouts  of 
men.  Adam  pushed  out  at  once,  and  was  shot  from 
the  shore.  April  and  Herbert,  thinking  they  might 
possibly  gain  the  opposite  bank,  left  gun  and  every 
thing,  and  plunged  into  the  stream.  Another  dis- 
charge, and  April  sinks,  a  bloody  stain  floating  over  the 
place ;  Herbert,  too,  feels  the  wind  of  bullets  past  his 
ears,  and  sinks  with  a  loud  splash,  as  if  he  were  hit, 
and  struggling ;  but,  striking  out  powerfully,  manages 
to  swim  under  water ;  until  at  length,  among  reeds  that 
fringe  thickly  the  opposite  bank,  he  puts  up  his  head. 
The  stream  is  not  broad,  and  he  can  distinctly  hear  the 
conversation  of  the  party,  —  half  a  dozen  rebel  scouts, 
—  who  seem  to  think,  that  an  end  of  the  fugitives  has 
been  made,  without  doubt.  Herbert  can  see  no  trace 
of  April ;  but  the  boat,  with  the  dead  body  of  Adam, 
has  been  carried  among  the  sedges  on  the  same  side  of 
the  stream  on  which  he  lies  hidden.  "  Let  it  float  do\vn 
to  the  Yankees,  with  the  old  nigger's  carcass,"  a  scout 
says  :  "  we  don't  want  it."  So  they  cook  a  meal  for 
themselves ;  and,  at  length,  move  onward. 

Herbert  came  cautiously  out,  sadly  imagining  that  he 
must  now  go  alone ;  when,  suddenly,  as  he  approached 
the  boat,  he  saw  a  black  arm  stretched  toward  it  from 


APRIL.  273 

the  reeds  ;  and^  in  a  moment  more,  April's  head,  as 
he  pulled  himself  from  the  water,  and  climbed  over  the 
side.  April  caught  sight  of  Herbert  at  the  same  mo- 
ment :  "  Golly,  Massa !  t'ought  you's  done  gone, 
shure." — ''April,  old  boy  !  I  thought  it  was  the  last  of 
you."  He  had  indeed  been  struck ;  but  it  was  only  a 
flesh  wound  in  the  muscular  shoulder.  It  had  bled  ; 
but  April  had  sheltered  himself  among  the  reeds,  as 
Herbert  had  done,  and  stopped  the  flowing  with  his 
shirt  before  he  grew  weak.  Herbert  took  ofl"  the 
saturated  rags,  and  bound  what  remained  of  his  own 
shirt  about  the  wound. 

Through  the  day  they  remained  concealed,  taking 
care  also  to  hide  the  little  boat ;  then,  at  dusk,  they 
launched  out  again  :  April,  with  his  wound,  being  forced 
to  keep  still ;  while  Herbert,  exhausted  though  he  was, 
rowed  cautiously  on  down  the  current  of  the  sluggish 
stream.  It  grew  broader  at  length  ;  the  shores  became 
swampy ;  the  salt  breath  of  the  sea  became  plain  to 
them.  They  snuffed  in  the  briny  scent  with  delight ; 
for  on  the  sea  was  freedom.  They  came  at  last  to  the 
end  of  the  forest ;  then  went  forward  beneath  the 
shadow  of  lofty  sedges  :  coarse,  high  grasses,  partly 
submerged  at  high  tide,  standing  out,  green  and  rough- 
edged,  from  dark,  briny  mud,  when  the  tide  was  down. 
Quietly  and  smoothly  forward,  —  and,  with  each  mile, 
hope  rose  higher.  In  yonder  bend,  would  there  be  no 
vidette  to  catch  the  sound  of  the  dipping  blades,  and 
stop  them,  close  upon  freedom,  with  his  challenge?  or, 
on  the  point  there,  was  it  certain  there  would  be  no 

12* 


274  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

picket-fire?  But  bend  and  point  went  behind,  lying 
silent  under  the  calm  night, — voiceless,  except  when 
the  scream  of  some  marsh-bird,  or  the  roar  of  an  alli- 
gator, or  the  clash  and  whisper  of  the  reeds  under  the 
night-wind,  sounded  upon  the  shadowy  air.  And  now, 
at  length,  from  the  shelter  of  the  stream,  Herbert  and 
April  floated  out  upon  the  wide,  smooth  waters  of  a 
bay,  whose  surface,  though  unbroken,  heaved  and  sank 
beneath  them.  It  was  the  ground-swell  of  the  welcome 
sea ;  and  never  beneath  a  weary  child  were  the  swaying 
arms  of  its  mother,  come  to  it  at  last,  so  sweet  and 
soothing,  as  was  the  heaving  of  the  sea  beneath  those 
weary  men. 

Under  the  stars,  their  boat  could  be  seen  afar ;  and 
now,  with  a  heavy  stroke  and  a  sounding  rush  across 
the  bay,  with  eight  bending  oars  on  a  side,  a  howitzer 
at  the  bow,  men  in  arms,  and  a  gold-banded  officer 
muffled  up  from  the  night  air  sitting  by  the  coxswain 
behind,  the  picket  boat  came  onward,  sent  from  the 
flag-ship  of  the  Federal  fleet  to  guard  the  mouth  of 
the  stream.  A  loud  hail,  and  Herbert  rests  on  his 
oars.  He  tries  to  call ;  but  his  voice  is  too  weak  to  go 
far.  A  moment  more,  and  the  stout  sailors  are  holding 
water  to  keep  the  heavy  launch  from  running  down  the 
little  boat,  and  arms  put  out  catch  it  by  its  gunwale. 
"  An  escaped  prisoner,  and  a  runaway  negro,"  —  the 
story  is  told  in  a  moment.  "  A  hard  time  enough  you 
have  had,  poor  fellow,  half-naked  and  wasted ! "  So 
the  kind  young  officer  at  the  stem.  He  puts  a  spirit 
flask  to  Herbert's  lips,  then  covers  him  up,  and  keeps 


APRIL.  •    275 

him  at  his  side  ;  nor  is  April  forgotten.  Then,  when 
soon  after,  across  the  law-shored  bay  comes  pouring 
the  grayer  light,  and  tlie  stars  grow  pale,  quickly  down 
the  bay  the  boat  goes  with  the  fugitives. 

Herbert,  with  heart  full  of  prayers,  and  exhausted 
eyes,  sees  once  more  the  dear  blue  and  crimson  em- 
blem, damp  from  the  night  air,  high  upon  its  halliards, 
above  the  cannon  -  cumbered  decks  of  gunboat  and 
frigate.  Straight  on  through  the  fleet,  under  the  deep- 
ening dawn,  —  the  watchmen  in  the  tops  looking  down 
upon  them  from  bullet-proof  enclosures  to  see  what 
has  been  found  in  the  night,  the  men  on  deck  polishing 
the  back  of  the  great  varnished  eleven-inch  amidships. 
Straight  on  through  the  fleet,  until  now  at  last  the 
flag-ship  is  before  them.  Herbert,  through  faint,  half- 
closed  eyes,  can  see  the  great  yards,  rods  in  length, 
one  above  another  lying  against  the  sky,  like  the  long 
rulings  of  a  broad,  blue  page.  Then,  as  they  come 
nearer,  and  the  east  behind  reddens,  from  truck  to  deck 
are  spun  the  interlacing  webs  of  cordage  across  the 
glow;  from  deck  to  deep,  black  upon  the  sea,  lies 
the  great  broad-side,  eyed  with  its  unlidded  ports, 
within  which,  like  unshrinking  pupils,  the  black  bores 
of  cannon  darkly  glower  and  frown  upon  the  distant, 
rebel  main.  Nearer  still ;  and  now  Herbert,  lying 
weary,  with  dim,  thankful  eyes,  sees  the  marines,  white 
belted,  pacing  their  beats,  and  sailors  looking  throuo-h 
the  ports  to  see  them  come.  Now  rounding  the  stern, 
with  limbs  in  which  the  sinews  seem  to  grate  and 
scrape,  as  if  they  were  rusty  wires,  Herbert  steps  upon 


276  •  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

the  comfortable  stairs  ;  and,  with  arm  upon  the  shoulder 
of  a  sailor,  goes  up  past  the  dark,  varnished  mouth  of 
a  cannon,  and  stands  unsteadily  upon  the  deck.  Her- 
bert sees  a  stately,  gray-haired  figure  standing  near 
him,  —  limping  a  little,  as  he  changes  his  position,  from 
an  old  wound  received  in  an  old  war,  —  looking  at  him 
with  steady,  pitying  eyes,  and  talking  low  with  the 
officer  of  the  deck.  "  A  sergeant,  you  say,  just 
escaped,  and  brought  up  by  the  launch?  A  hard, 
hard  time  he  has  had.  Feed  him,  and  let  him  sleep. 
When  he  is  rested,  bring  him  to  me."  It  is  the  admi- 
ral. Herbert,  half-naked,  and  haggard  with  hardship, 
his  thick  hair  matted,  his  arms  and  limbs  scored  and 
scraped  by  venomous  thorns  that  have  torn  off  his 
clothing  and  then  pierced  the  skin,  pinched  with 
famine,  with  ashy  fever  caught  from  miasma  and 
damp  beginning  to  appear  upon  the  lips,  feels  himself 
washed  and  fed  by  friendly  hands,  then  folded  up  for 
sleep. 


BROKEN   DOWN.  277 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


BROKEN      DOWN. 


Herbert  slept  for  hours.  He  awoke  at  last  at  a 
drum-beat.  The  ship  was  populous  as  a  town  ;  and  he 
found  the  crew  removing  railings,  lowering  away  ham- 
mocks, barrels,  capstans,  sweeping  off  bulkheads  and 
great  piles  of  cordage,  while  the  drum  went  on  beating, 
and  the  piping  of  boatswains  rang  from  deck  to  deck. 
Each  crew  went  to  its  particular  gun,  and  each  man  to 
his  post,  —  one  to  lanyard,  another  to  ramrod,  another 
to  pulleys  and  wheels ;  and  the  movements  of  a  battle 
were  rehearsed.  So  Herbert  saw  the  ship  cleared  for 
action,  and  the  practice  gone  through  with,  that  made 
these  hundreds  of  men  cool  and  efficient  in  times  of 
danger. 

Herbert,  much  refreshed,  but  very  weak,  stood  un- 
steadily upon  the  deck.  Hundreds  of  sailors,  young, 
athletic  men,  in  loose  garments  of  dark  blue,  and 
tufted,  unvisored  caps  above  their  brown  faces,  crowded 
the  planks,  that  shone  in  their  neatness.  One  beyond 
another  crouched  the  cannon,  each  on  its  carriage,  black 
and  shining  in  the  sun,  like  a  row  of  Titan  contra- 
bands, drawn  up  in  line  for  fight.     Each  brazen  rail. 


278  THE   THIXKIXG   BAYONET. 

each  nail-head,  the  copper  of  capstan,  the  steel  beams 
of  the  machinery,  were  polished  with  a  holiday  gloss  ; 
and  each  blue  tar,  about  tattered,  half-naked  Herbert 
there,  was  neat  and  well-combed  as  a  merman.  Clear, 
above  him  towered  the  masts,  the  tops  peopled  with 
men ;  solitary  watchmen  in  the  cross-trees  far  aloft, 
who,  one  might  think,  could  light  their  pipes  at  the 
handy  stars.  The  main-mast  was  bound  with  strips  of 
timber,  where  a  solid  shot,  in  the  battle  by  which  the 
harbor  was  won,  pierced  it  through  and  through.  At 
the  bow  was  the  huge,  pivot  chaser ;  at  the  stern,  one 
still  larger.  It  was  all  there  for  Herbert  to  see,  and 
so  April  there  at  his  side. 

Then  Herbert  w\as  taken  to  see  the  admiral.  He 
was  weak,  but  clear  in  mind,  much  helped  by  peaceful 
sleep  and  comfortable  food.  He  went,  led  by  his  con- 
ductor, past  racks  where  were  cutlasses  for  boarding, 
and  revolvers  by  the  hundred ;  past  culprits  manacled 
to  posts,  and  one  in  a  straiglit  jacket  with  "Thief" 
painted  in  broad  letters  on  the- back;  past  the  hospital, 
where  sick  sailors  swung  in  their  hammocks,  with  the 
blue,  cool  sea  plain  to  them  through  the  wide-open 
ports.  Everywhere,  except  in  the  case  of  the  sick  and 
the  culprits,  the  crew  looked  healthy  and  happy;  for, 
numerous  as  they  were,  the  men  were  comfortable  in 
the  light  and  airy  spaces  of  the  great  ship.  At  last, 
Herbert  went  into  the  admiral's  cabin,  richly  furnished, 
softly  carpeted,  set  off  with  handsome  woods.  He  had 
not  been  amono^  such  surroundiniT-s  since  he  fled  from 
Honomok.      Herbert   waited  while   the   captain    of   a 


BPwOKEX   DOWN.  279 

blockader,  tall  and  well-knit,  gave  his  report  of  a  late 
capture.  Then  came  in  the  officer  who  commanded  the 
flag-ship,  as  the  admiral  did  the  squadron,  mild  in 
manners,  with  a  thoughtful  face.  He  would  pass  for  a 
student,  were  it  not  for  the  brown  upon  his  face,  and 
that  he  wore  the  broad,  gold  stripes  of  a  captain. 
Herbert  looked  at  the  mild,  courteous  gentleman,  won- 
derinof  if  that  was  the  mien  he  wore  when  he  man- 
ceuvred  and  fought  his  great  ship,  in  the  battle*  of 
which  the  sailor  who  brought  him  to  the  admkal's 
cabin  had  just  given  him  an  account.  The  admiral  at 
last  turned  to  Herbert,  courteous  but  prompt,  inquired 
where  he  was  taken,  where  confined,  how  he  escaped, 
and  what  he  could  tell  about  the  enemy's  movements 
and  forces.  It  was  but  little ;  for  the  prison  was  in 
the  interior,  and,  through  April's  generalship,  the  troops 
were,  for  the  most  part,  avoided,  as  they  made  their 
escape.  The  admiral  was,  throughout,  kind  ;  and,  dur- 
ing the  conversation,  as  one  and  another  interrupted 
him,  Herbert  could  see  how  he  knew  each  block  and 
spar,  every  arm,  from  cutlass  to  ten-inch  pivot,  as  a 
farmer  knows  his  plough,  or  a  carpenter  his  plane. 
"  Get  your  strength  again,  and  you  shall  go  to  your 
regiment,"  said  the  admiral  at  length,  at  the  end  of  the 
interview.  In  a  day  or  two,  April  went  ashore  in  one 
of  the  ship's  boats  to  enlist  in  a  colored  regiment; 
Herbert  wringing  the  fine  fellow's  hands,  as  they  bade 
one  another  good-by. 

Rest  and  comfortable  food  and  the  reviving"  breath 
of  the  sea  seemed  on  the  point  of  bringing  back  to 


280  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

Herbert  his  old  vigor ;  but,  before  health  had  fairly 
come,  impatient  to  be  in  his  place,  he  went  round  by 
sea  to  the  department  in  which  his  regiment  w^as  serv- 
ing. He  went  too  soon  into  hardship.  He  fell  ill ;  and 
Pat  Flanagan,  who  had  welcomed  him  on  his  return 
with  profuse  and  genuine  joy,  was  his  faithful  nurse. 

Herbert  is  sick  in  a  large  wall-tent.  The  roof  is 
slit  to  give  ventilation  ;  and  in  one  corner  is  a  hole  in 
the  earth,  covered  by  a  plate  of  tin,  communicating  by 
a  little  covered  ditch  with  barrels  outside,  —  three,  one 
above  another.  The  barrels  have  their  heads  knocked 
out,  and  are  the  chimney.  This  hole  is  the  stove,  in 
which,  on  the  damp  night  when  w^e  look  in,  there  is 
burning  a  fire.  At  the  back  of  the  tent,  there  is  a 
rough  arrangement  of  shelves,  with  partially  devoured 
loaves  of  bread,  now  musty,  canteens,  and  clothing. 
On  an  old  keg  stands  a  brandy-flask.  At  the  same 
end  with  the  door  is  a  rude  rack,  holding  weapons  and 
equipments.  Outside  it  is  raining,  and  things  are 
pretty  well  diluted :  it  is  almost  a  question,  whether 
one  ought  to  walk  or  swim.  The  world  looks  hardly 
ripe  enough  for  human  habitation ;  but,  rather,  like  a 
good  place  for  ichthyosauri.  The  surroundings  are  so 
palaeozoic,  it  is  certainly  to  be  expected  that  Pat,  whose 
power  of  adaptation  has  been  noticed,  will  some  how 
or  other  develop  fins  and  web-feet,  or  become  some- 
thing of  the  tadpole  order.  The  tent  pitched  thus  in 
the  mire  has  a  rough  floor,  and  on  the  floor  lies  a 
mattress,  and  on  the  mattress  lies  Herbert,  sick  with 
fever. 


BROKEN    DOWX.  281 

There  are  other  sick  men  ;  but  no  one  is  so  well  off 
as  Herbert.  Ask  not  where  Pat  got  the  mattress. 
Herbert  lies  with  no  sheet  above  or  below,  in  his  usual 
dress-;  for  there  is  nothing  else  to  put  on.  At  the  edge 
of  the  mattress,  which  his  feet  overlie,  the  floor  is  thick 
and  slimy  with  mud;  the  flap  of  the  tent,  hangino- 
damp,  is  dirty  from  dirty  hands.  He  takes  quinine 
from  a  broken  iron  spoon.  His  soiled  blanket  is  his 
only  covering;  his  overcoat,  folded,  is  his  pillow;  a 
towel  is  wrapped  about  his  head  like  a  cowl,  to  keep 
off"  the  damp.  In  his  emaciation,  the  skin  draws  tight 
across  the  white  brow,  and  the  face  shows  white  and  • 
tliin  through  the  beard.  The  surgeon  is  at  the  hospital 
tent  a  mile  oif. 

Last  night,  Herbert  was  in  a  strait  for  medicine,  and 
none  was  to  be  had.  The  earth  was  afloat ;  the  air, 
thick  with  vapor  blinding  as  snow,  damp  as  the  wave 
itself.  Pat  set  out  for  the  hospital.  There  was  no 
path  out  of  the  wood  that  could  be  traced ;  a  few  feet 
off",  the  trunks  of  laro^e  trees  were  drowned  out  of  sio-ht. 
Suddenly,  a  sentry  threw  his  piece  aport :  "  Who  goes 
there  ?  "  Pat  gave  answer  to  the  challenge,  that  he  was 
a  private,  on  hospital  service ;  that  he  had  a  pass  from 
the  surgeon,  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  hospital  for 
medicine  for  a  sick  man.  A  man  wandering  about  at « 
this  time  is  a  suspicious  thing ;  and  the  sentry  is  not  to 
be  blamed  for  looking  at  Pat's  uniform,  and  questioning 
him  pretty  closely.  Pat  gets  past  at  last,  but  only  to 
find  his  pathway  thorny  with  bayonets.  The  foot  of  a 
patrol  splashes  in  the  wet  every  few  rods ;   from  every 


282  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

thicket  comes  the  rattle  of  a  giin,  and  a  challenge. 
But  Pat  goes  and  comes  ;  and  Herbert,  groaning,  grows 
easier,  and  sleeps  under  the  influence  of  the  medicine. 

His  sick-room  is  dirty  and  damp  enougli,  poor  fellow  I 
whom  the  tenderest  hands  and  hearts  long  to  soothe  and 
fold;  but  his  trouble  is  contagious,  and  he  must  be 
kept  apart  in  a  place  still  more  dreary  than  the  crowded 
wards  where  lie  the  less  dangerously  ill.  One  surgeon 
is  ill  himself;  the  other,  overworked,  —  with  sick  to 
tend,  here  and  there  and  everywhere ;  moreover,  there 
is  bother  unspeakable  in  drawing  the  necessary  things, 
—  the  whiskey,  the  wood,  the  food,  and  all  proper 
comforts,  —  bother  coming  from  the  multitude  of  the 
sick,  making  a  weight  beyond  the  power  of  red  tape  to 
pull.  Herbert  lies  very  low,  with  a  flutter  in  his 
hands  and  upon  his  clammy  lips,  as  if  the  flickering 
life  made  the  whole  frame  tremulous  :  stupor  or 
delirium  with  its  ghastly  laughter  it  is,  most  of  the 
time. 

Next  to  Herbert,  lies  Francois,  a  young  Frenchman, 
less  badly  off,  with  a  sweet,  broken  accent,  who  longs 
after  kindness,  and  is  waiting  for  "nex'  mons',"  when 
"  mine  broder  is  comin',"  —  brother  now  absent  with 
a  detachment.  Pat  faithfully  washes  Francois'  delicate 
but  dirty  face,  and  cools  the  fever  in  his  head  by 
sopping  his  black  mat  of  curly  hair.  There  are, 
beside,  a  convalescent  corporal,  and  a  private  even 
more  low  than  Herbert ;  over  whom  Life  and  Death 
have  been  locked,  for  some  days,  in  a  fierce  struggle : 
but  Death  is  getting  the  mastery. 


BROKEN    DOWN.  283 

Pat  is  one  of  the  purest,  if  he  be  also  one  of  the 
roughest,  of  diamonds.  Go  along  the  camp-street  at 
almost  any  time,  and  Pat  will  be  filling  the  air  witK 
his  brogue  and  blasphemy ;  he  would  be  set  down  by 
nine-tenths  of  the  world,  at  first  sight,  as  a  most 
dangerous  old  marauder ;  yet  the  fellow  is  a  perfect 
jewel  in  his  way  :  good-hearted,  unselfish,  as  ready  to 
give  himself  for  another,  body  and  soul,  as  if  he  were 
of  the  elect.  It  is  hard  to  get  water  ;  Pat  goes,  loaded 
down  with  canteens,  —  whose  whke  strings  wind  round 
his  body  in  a  perfect  maze,  —  to  the  house  of  a  citizen, 
secretly  rebel,  who  objects.  "  Whurroo  !  mon,"  says 
Pat ;  "  do  you  see  that  house  ? "  pointing  oiF  to  one 
that  the  regiment  is  tearing  down  for  firewood,  as  is 
their  sweet  and  peaceful  habit  just  now.  The  rebel 
allows  that  he  sees  it.  "  An'  it's  this  ould  shanty  that'll 
go  next ! "  after  which  terse  declaration,  Pat  fills  his 
canteens  without  flirther  remonstrance. 

He  is  grand -hearted,  and  handy  as  he  is  good- 
hearted.  'Tis  great  to  see  him  head  ofi"  a  cow  one 
night,  in  the  bushes  behind  the  tent,  to  steal  milk  for 
the  sick  men ;  cow  especially  consigned  to  the  care  of 
the  guard,  as  giving  an  officer  high  in  rank  the  luxury 
of  milk.  Marvellous,  too,  is  the  cooking  done  upon 
the  old  tin  plate,  over  the  hole  in  the  ground  that 
answers  for  a  stove.  He  brews  whiskey -punches ; 
and,  from  under  the  very  nose  of  the  commissary,  he 
steals,  in  behalf  of  his  sick  men,  all  sorts  of  dainty 
things.  Herbert  is  his  friend,  and  to  him  he  gives  his 
tenderest  care.     From  a  mile  away,  he  brings  a  huge 


284  THE    THIXKIXG   BAYONET. 

arm-cliair,  to  have  it  ready  for  Herbert  if  he  begins  to 
grow  better;  another  time,  it  is  a  soft  and  clean  woollen 
tlanket  (the  less  said  about  his  manner  of  getting 
them  the  better)  ;  and  in  the  blanket  are  wrapped  up 
oranges,  lemons,  farina  for  gruel,  and  spirit. 

Pat's  eyes  lately  have  given  him  trouble  ;  and,  more- 
over, he  is  rather  badly  off  with  jaundice.  This  gives 
him  respite  from  guard  and  picket-duty ;  and  that  is 
why  he  is  at  liberty  to  do  nursing.  He  is  fit  to  be 
nursed  himself;  but -within  that  rude  outside,  in  the^ 
soul  that  utters  itself  so  roughly,  there  is  a  hankering 
after  self-sacrifice  that  would  do  a  saint  honor.  One 
morning,  Pat  appears  before  his  colonel  more  blear- 
eyed  than  ever,  to  ask  for  help.  For  five  nights 
running,  and  daytimes  too,  he  has  been  at  his  hospital ; 
having  little  spells  of  sleep  when  one  or  another  has 
come  in  for  part  of  tlie  night,  or  a  little  while  during 
the  day ;  but  taking  the  brunt  of  the  work  in  nursing 
five  men,  sick  of  contagious  disease.  The  colonel 
goes  up  wuth  Pat  to  the  tent.  Britton,  the  dying 
private,  who  has  intervals  of  sanity  in  his  delirium, 
turns  his  glazing  eyes  toward  the  two  as  they  stoop 
down  by  him  :  ''  Pat,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again  ;  "  and 
the  corporal,  who  is  well  enough  to  sit  braced  up 
against  the  tent-pole,  tells  the  colonel  how  "he  allers 
kind  o'  took  to  Pat ;  and  he  was  the  best-hearted  feller 
goin'."  Pat  and  the  colonel  stand  by  Herbert's  couch. 
His  fever  runs  high  ;  a  flush  burns  over  his  features,  — 
unnatural,  yet  less  deathly  than  the  pallor  that  lies 
upon    them   at    times,  —  and  somewhat  disguising  the 


BROKEN   DOWX.  285 

emaciation,  so  that  the  face  approaches  to  its  old  look. 
"A  fine  head,  by  Jove  !"  says  the  colonel  to  himself; 
"  and  a  o:rand  fio^ure  of  a  man.  I  more  than  half  believe 
justice  hasn't  been  done  this  sergeant.  If  he  lives,  I 
will  see  to  it."  Herbert  smiles  in  his  fever  as  they 
speak,  and  asks  them  if  Leonora  got  safely  out  of 
the  surf.  They  shake  their  heads,  and  Pat  dashes 
his  rough  fists  into  his  eyes ;  he  so  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  outlaw  and  rough,  there  by  the  couch  of  the 
gentleman,  bis  friend.  He  is  rusty  as  the  old  pocket- 
knife  with  which  he  goes  to  work  to  slice  up  a  loaf  of 
soft-bread;  dusty  cap,  short  blouse,  short,  stubbed 
figure ;  pants  wrinkled,  and  shrunk  away  from  the 
boots ;  from  top  to  toe,  crocked  and  spotted  with  all 
sorts  of  stains ;  face,  dull  yellow  from  the  jaundice ; 
beard  rough  and  uneven,  as  if  trimmed  by  the  same 
tool  with  which  he  cuts  the  bread,  as  is  probably  the 
case  :  a  hard  outside  for  a  hero. 

But  Herbert's  life  was  saved.  How  sharp  and  white 
showed  the  bone  through  the  skin  around  the  hollows 
of  his  eyes  !  how  the  stately  neck  had  shrivelled,  with 
the  wounded  ear  above ;  and,  beyond  the  scar  upon  the 
right  fore-arm,  how  plain  were  the  bones  of  the  hand ! 
How  tottered  his  limbs,  in  place  of  their  old  manly 
walk,  as  he  crept  on  pleasant  days  out  to  the  door  of 
the  tent  I  Pat  watched  his  convalescence,  helping  him 
to  strength  with  many  a  nourishing,  palatable  mess, 
made  from  almost  nothing  over  the  hole  in  the  comer, 
and  cheering  him  with  uncouth  kindness.  Little  by 
little,  Herbert  grew  better ;   though,  under  those  heats 


286  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

and  damps,  it  was  as  if  a  strong  man  held  him  down, 
with  his  knee  upon  his  chest.  Pat  encouraged  his  pa- 
tient like  a  true  and  tender  nurse.  "  Hi !  I'll  be  afther 
enterin'  ye  for  a  fut-race.  The  legs  uv  ye  was  Hke 
hickory  whip-stocks  a  for-rt-night  by,  —  but  whoosh  ! 
the  way  the  fat  packs  about  tliim  knays  !  "  Pat,  in  the 
overflow  of  his  heart  and  in  the  effort  to  cheer,  imparted 
a  variety  of  knowledge ;  so  that  Herbert,  as  he  sat 
amused  by  his  sense  and  wit,  thought  he  should  become 
an  accomplished  man.  Pat,  for  instance,  was  learned 
in  mule-driving.  A  long  rope  was  all  that  was  wanted, 
he  explained,  with  a  rich  expenditure  of  brogue.  A 
long  pull  meant  "  haw  I  "  a  jerk  meant  "  gee  !  "  —  "  thim 
lane,  gray  craythurs,  is  all  br-r-oke  to  it."  Pat's  com- 
ments, moreover,  upon  officers  and  men  were  most 
instructive.  Speaking  of  a  captatn  so  over-thorough 
in  Pat's  idea,  that  neither  he  nor  his  men  had  any  res- 
pite from  drill  and  cleaning,  it  was,  "His  sowl  knows 
no  pace.  Be-gor-r-ra,  an'  ef  he'd  ne'er  another  job, 
he'd  tak'  hould  and  put  shingles  on  the  roof  uv  his 
mouth." 

One  day,  as  Herbert  was  growing  better,  an  officer 
died.  A  fine  band,  whose  music  was  all  the  finer  com- 
ing strained  through  half  a  mile  of  moss-hung,  broad- 
leaved  magnolia  forest,  marched  before  the  coffin  to  the 
grave.  How  sublime  was  that  march  of  death  !  The 
finer  instruments  sobbed  with  wailing,  and  the  deeper 
bass,  passed  on  rod  by  rod.  Herbert  could  hear  it 
down,  —  the  forest, —  saddening  the  air  with  groaning  : 
then  far  away  by  the  open  grave,  he  heard  the  dirge  die. 


BROKEN   DOWN.  287 

In  his  weakness,  it  touched  him  in  the  deep  places  of  his 
soul.  Then,  after  a  pause,  at  first  low  from  the  far 
distance  ;  then  nearer,  with  the  returning  escort,  pealed 
that  sweet  old  familiar  march,  adopted  as  the  air  of  the 
University,  and  known  as  "  Old  Havenbrldge."  Well 
did  Herbert  remember  when  he  heard  it  first.  He  was 
brimming  with  all  the  uncooled  new-gushing  loyalty  of 
his  Freshman  year.  He  stood  with  his  class,  —  Clai- 
borne and  all,  under  the  waving  elms  ;  for  the  students 
were  going  in  procession  at  a  great  festival.  Along  the 
line,  the  banner  of  the  University  was  borne  by  a  scho- 
lastic group  of  gowned  seniors,  the  Latin  legend  rolling 
out  Avithin  the  heavy  fringe,  as  the  breeze  came  cool 
from  the  blue  water  where  lay  the  boats.  Then  sud- 
denly, as  they  marched  on  with  the  streaming  banner, 
those  straight,  chosen  youths,  whose  grave  and  plaited 
silk  betokened  the  dignity  of  their  Alma  Mater,  as 
their  bright  faces  and  firm  limbs  betokened  her  per- 
petual youth,  (how  it  all  came  back  to  Herbert !)  — 
suddenly,  from  the  end  of  the  line,  with  crash  of  cym- 
bal, and  melodious  outgush  from  brazen  throat,  and  tone 
of  drum,  that  made  the  blood  throb  in  the  veins,  broke 
out  the  ancient  University  march.  That  was  the  first 
time.  Then  how  he  had  sung  it !  by  moonlight,  upon 
lawns  in  the  serenade  ;  through  the  resounding  entries 
of  college-halls  ;  afar  o'er  the  water  frOm  the  thwart,  as 
he  gave  time  with  his  quick,  feathering  blade  to  the  crew 
and  to  the  tune.  It  woke  all  those  old  memories  within 
him,  so  that  they  came  in  his  weakness  there,  into  his 
mind  almost  hot  and  fierce, — those  happy,  sweet  old 


288  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

days  !  —  until  he  wept  and  wept.  Those  old  memories, 
—  the  peace,  the  refinement,  his  library,  the  faces  of 
lovely  ladies,  the  amenities  of  pleasant  living  !  So  he 
sat,  weak  and  weeping  ;  no  nerve  now  to  choke  back  the 
tears ;  in  the  mud  and  wet,  in  soiled  and  ragged  attire, 
so  haggard  and  weary  I 

From  Herbert  to  Pidnam, 

"Dear  Putnam, — I  shall  write  only  a  little.  I 
have  been  sick  almost  unto  death,  and  am  too  weak  to 
do  much.  I  sit  in  the  sun,  on  an  empty  cartridge-box, 
at  the  door  of  the  hospital-tent,  about  which  I  totter  on 
warm  days,  wan  and  hollow-eyed.  This  sickness  is 
such  a  desperate  matter,  enfeebling  to  the  hmbs,  en- 
feebling, alas  !  to  the  soul.  Fortitude  !  only  give  me 
vigor,  and  I  can  encounter  any  thing,  —  do  it  cheerful- 
ly ;  but  sickness  throttles  the  manhood  of  a  man.  I  try 
now  to  play  a  manly  part ;  I  try  to  do  honorable  duty 
well.  I  believe  I  have  been  a  faithful  soldier  ;  I  have 
wounds  to  show  :  this  gashed  arm,  the  scar  more  plain 
now  that  the  flesh  is  somewhat  shrivelled ;  and  part  of 
the  ear  above,  too,  was  carried  away  by  a  ball.  I  can 
follow  duty  with  heart  so  high,  let  me  only  be  strong, 
though  my  members  perish ;  "^^ea,  though  the  whole 
frame  go  down  in  death  :  but  before  sickness,  in  spite 
of  myself,  my  heart  withers  ;  and  through  this  the  sol- 
dier must  almost  certainly  pass.  ]Malaria  and  privation  ; 
a  couch  of  the  damp  clay,  when  the  sweat  pours  off; 
no  food,  when  hard  work  is  being  done, — these  will 
bring  one  down.     But  I  am  too  weak  to  write  more. 


BROKEN   DOWN.  289 

Will  it  help  me  to  be  manly  and  high  to  come  into  con- 
nection with  old  friends?  In  sickness,  I  say,  'It  will 
be  unmanly  weakness  to  be  overborne  now,  and  with- 
draw the  veil.'  So,  although  my  heart  yearns  to  hear 
from  old  friends,  I  think,  'I  will  wait,  until  I  am  well 
before  I  do  it ; '  but,  when  I  am  well  again,  I  go  for- 
ward with  less  trouble,  and  postpone  it.  I  will  not  tell 
you  now,  though  I  suffer.  I  can  send  you  the  letter, 
and  give  you  no  clew." 


290  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 


THE     CLEW. 


Herbeet  does  grow  better,  and  soon  it  is  time  to 
march  again.  Pale  and  emaciated,  the  sergeant  persists 
in  taking  his  place  at  the  earliest  moment.  The  limbs 
totter  yet,  but  any  thing  is  more  tolerable  than  hospital 
life.  When  the  load  is  packed,  with  musket  again  at 
the  right-shoulder-shift,  Herbert  does  not  feel  light  as  a 
feather.  That  hot  southern  air  !  Herbert  feels  as  if  the 
stout  fellow  had  him  down  still,  with  knee  on  his  chest ; 
and  as  if  the  little  he  had  gained  had  only  come  through 
terrible  struggle.  If  he  could  only  lie  on  the  wet,  salt 
rocks  at  Honomok  once  more,  or  in  the  deep  grass  be- 
fore the  old  room  at  Havenbridge  !  Those  blue,  breezy 
heavens  stretched  along  above  him  would  give  him  new 
life  with  their  breath,  as  the  prophet  of  i^ld  gave  new 
life  to  the  dead  boy  of  the  Shunamite.  Pat  is  at  hand, 
and  faithful,  scarred  all  over,  with  a  hurt  to  show  for 
every  battle  in  which  he  has  fought.  Rolls  and  groans 
and  curses  forward  the  great  army.  Burning  hot  is  the 
sun  at  noon  over  Herbert,  stooping  and  hobbling  for- 
ward with  an  unconquerable  spu'it.  He  thinks  of  the 
Jesuit  Father   Jogues,  in  Canada,  two  hundred  years 


THE    CLEW.  291 

ago,  so  brave  and  patient  at  the  stake ;  and  the  dying 
Xavier,  praying  "  More,  O  my  God,  yet  more  !  "  He 
has  no  more  to  bear  than  they ;  not  as  much ;  so,  al- 
though there  is  gasping  and  faltering  of  the  knees,  it  is 
not  of):en  that  the  sergeant  is  among  the  stragglers. 

Once  it  was  too  much  to  be  borne.  Ground,  as  by 
millstones,  was  the  road, — under  hoofs,  under  foot- 
beats,  under  the  wheels  of  cannon ;  and  the  dust  was 
flung  thick  through  the  air  by  the  galloping  squadrons 
that  passed  along  the  line.  Wearily  toiled  the  platoons 
with  red,  sweltering  faces,  and  saturated  clothes,  with 
every  half-hour  or  so  the  halt,  so  unspeakably  welcome. 
Herbert  sank  once  to  the  ground,  as  the  word  came ; 
the  mist  gathering  before  his  eyes,  and  the  blood  throb- 
bing hard  into  the  reeling  brain.  Pat  supports  him  by 
the  shoulders.  "  Bear  a  hand  here  wid  the  saro-int !  " 
and  Pat  and  two  others  drag  him  to  the  side  of  the 
road  under  the  trees.  They  put  the  roll  of  blankets  un- 
der his  head  for  a  pillow,  unloose  the  clasp  of  the  belts, 
and  fling  ofl*  the  weights.  A  little  water,  sparingly 
taken  from  a  canteen,  falls  cool  on  Herbert's  forehead ; 
then  Pat  brings  out  from  his  blouse  a  flask,  with  a  few 
drops  of  carefully  hoarded  whiskey,  —  a  pious  theft  from 
the  hospital  stores,  that  he  might  be  ready  for  just  such 
an  emergency. 

"Battalion  !  "  the  cheerful,  sonorous  voice  of  the  col- 
onel, from  the  head  of  the  regiment.  Herbert  tries  to 
rise,  but  sinks  backward.  "  Hurroo,  me  by !  niver 
hurry.  Eist  aisy  now."  So  they  lie  side  by  side, 
through  the  heat  of  the  noon  and  afternoon ;  Herbert's 


292  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

wasted  face  and  weakness  winning  the  pity  of  the  guard 
behind,  whose  duty  it  is  to  arrest  the  loiterers.  Pat, 
meanwhile,  has  left  the  line  of  the  army,  and  is  hunting 
through  the  woods  for  water.  He  strikes  the  bed  of  a 
torrent,  but  it  is  parched  and  dry.  Pat,  however,  is 
too  old  a  campaigner  to  be  discouraged ;  so  he  follows 
the  channel  down  among  the  dry  gullied  ravines.  About 
the  trees  on  either  hand  are  knotted  the  great  vines; 
the  snake  hisses  or  rattles,  then  makes  way  for  him,  as 
he  goes  mile  after  mile  into  the  solitude.  It  seems  al- 
most a  desperate  chance ;  but  Herbert  is  parched  with 
returning  fever,  and  has  called  for  water.  Here  it  is  at 
last ;  a  little  pool,  left  in  a  densely-shaded  spot,  stag- 
nant, and  with  a  green  scum  on  part  of  the  surface  : 
but  Pat  joyfully  gets  do^vn  upon  his  knees,  Avith  his 
cracked  and  battered  cup,  to  scoop  it  out  little  by  little ; 
then  hurries  back  to  Herbert. 

A  strong  dose  of  quinine  now :  then  as  the  sun  be- 
comes low,  cannot  Herbert  go  forward?  "Hi !  Stout 
ould  chap,  we'll  rache  the  camp  in  a  jiffey."  Herbert 
staggers  to  his  feet,  Pat  taking  his  gun  and  equip- 
ments. A  little  way  forward,  and  the  sun  sets.  How 
hot  and  hard  the  march  has  been  !  Everywhere  there 
are  abandoned  blankets  and  coats  :  every  few  rods, 
little  hobbling  groups  of  men,  who  fell  out  in  the  heat, 
and  are  going  on  toward  the  camp.  The  road  goes  up 
a  hill ;  then,  in  the  dusk,  Pat  and  Herbert  see  before 
them  a  wide,  trackless  plain,  almost  herbless  :  the  earth 
baked  hard  with  the  heat.  Night  is  falling,  and  there 
is  no   trace  of  the  army.     Herbert  sinks  again.     Pat 


THE    CLEW.  293 

decides  that  they  must  stop  for  the  night ;  so  the  rubber- 
blanket  is  spread,  and  they  lie  down  together ;  fever- 
wasted  Herbert,  one  would  say  it  was  a  Imrd  chance 
for  you !  Through  the  heavens  look  down  the  clear, 
large  stars  of  the  southern  sky.  Far  away,  now  and 
then,  from  thirty  miles  across  the  country,  rumbles  the 
low  roar  of  heavy  cannonading.  Back  to  his  old  quiet 
life,  to  his  books  and  sports,  and,  more  than  all,  to  the 
woman  whom  he  loves,  his  mind  goes  wandering.  Will 
he  ever  see  them  again  ?  There  is  a  weakness  almost 
of  death  in  his  frame,  but  heroic  life  in  his  soul,  as  he 
thus  lies.  "Nevertheless,  I  trust  I  play  a  manly  part. 
Through  my  wretchedness  and  death  may  the  world 
rejoice."     Not  yet,  Herbert. 

The  quinine  and  some  sound  sleep  do  their  work. 
Next  morning  comes  rumbling  up  a  subsistence  wagon, 
lightened  somewhat  the  night  before  by  the  distribution 
of  rations  from  it.  "  Dhriver  dear,  for  God's  sake," 
pleads  Pat;  and  the  pallor  of  Herbert's  face  is  elo- 
quent :  but  the  driver  refuses.  Pat  here  produces  a 
quantity  of  rebel  paper-money,  got  from  a  prisoner. 
These  are  his  only  funds.  "  I'll  pay  me  way  like  a  gin- 
tleman ; "  and  then,  when  the  fellow  objects  to  the 
money,  as  not  being  "  worth  a  rag,"  —  "  Good  as  gould, 
good  as  gould,"  cries  Pat,  in  his  extremity,  —  "bedad  ! 
an'  if  iver  again  I  git  sight  uv  a  dintist,  he's  the  ould 
by  that  I'll  have  fill  me  tathe  wid  'em.  I'd  have  it,  be- 
dad !  as  soon  as  I  would  the  r-raal  tin."  The  driver  is 
won  over  at  last.  No  springs  ;  rough  boards  only  to 
ride  on,  cracked  and  broken  by  heavy  weights,  so  that 


294  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

they  can  look  through  to  the  gi'ound  below.  Every 
now  and  then,  the  mules  are  put  at  a  gallop  along  the 
rough  road  ;  for  the  wagon  has  fallen  behind  its  place  in 
the  line.  But  the  canvas  top  keeps  out  the  sun,  and 
they  go  forward  rapidly. 

Let  us  change  now  to  Putnam  May,  who  is  writing  a 
joyful  letter,  to  tell  of  good  news. 

From  Putnam  May  to  Louisa  May, 

"  Deak  Lou,  —  Another  trace  of  him  !  and  I  am  full 
of  joy.  To  be  sure,  this  may  fail  me  like  the  others  ; 
and  yet,  I  think  not ;  for  it  is  more  clear  and  decided, 
and  I  think  we  have  him  now.  It  so  happened  in  the 
city,  the  other  day,  at  Mr.  Blancard's,  that  I  was  look- 
ing at  their  photographs.  Among  their  stereoscopic 
views  is  a  large  collection  of  battle-scenes,  which  I 
glanced  over  :  they  were  good  pictures.  There  was  the 
review,  and  the  impending  battle,  and  the  field  at  the 
end  of  the  fight.  Then  the  fight  itself:  regiments  sta- 
tionary ;  then  the  blur  where  men  were  rushing,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  battery-smoke.  There  were  the  block- 
ader  and  the  Iron-clad ;  the  general  on  his  steed,  and 
the  soldier  just  out  of  fire,  with  the  sweat  and  powder- 
stains  upon  his  face  and  garments. 

"  I  looked  them  over,  until  I  came  to  one  which  made 
me  stop  at  once.  At  first,  it  was  only  the  tragic  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  scene.  Upon  the  ground,  much 
ploughed  and  trampled,  lay  a  huge  siege-piece,  dis- 
mounted by  a  shot  that  had  struck  near  the  muzzle.  A 
large  piece  of  metal  was  torn  oflP  along  the  bore,  expos- 


THE    CLEW.  295 

ing  for  several  feet  the  hollow  within.     Under  it  lay- 
part  of  its  carriage,  badly  splintered.     Against  it  leaned 
one  of  the  wheels,  its  felloe  cracked,  and  spokes  broken 
here  and  there,  while  behind  was  the  limber.     About 
were  gabions,  the  basket  work  broken  by  balls.     Jagged 
fragments  of  shell  lay  upon    the  ground.     Here  and 
there  were  dark  spots  upon  the   earth ;   the  color,  of 
course,  not  given  :  but  I  judged  it  would  be  red.     It 
was  a  view  of  the  inside  of  a  rebel  battery,  the  day  after 
it  had  been  stormed  and  taken.     Upon  the  line  of  earth- 
work? behind,  stood  a   sentry.     Upon  the   splintered 
cannon  sat  a  tall  figure,  with  the  chevrons  of  a  sergeant 
plain  upon  his  arm.    The  picture  was  finely  taken.    The 
gun,  and  the  figure  sitting  upon  it  in  particular,  were 
in  the  focus  of  the  instrument,  and  given  with  perfect 
distinctness.     The   face   of  the    sergeant  was   a  little 
turned  away :    he  sat  leaning  with  liis  head  upon  his 
right  hand.     The  cap-visor  came  low,  so  that  I  could 
not  plainly  get  the  features.     I  say,  the  picturesqueness 
of  the   photograph    attracted   me :    there   was    a   fine 
masculine  grace  in  the  figure   and  attitude.     He  was 
evidently  some  veteran,  who  had  been  surprised  by  the 
artist,  and  taken  without  his   knowledge.     His  pants 
were  torn  ;  - 1  thought  it  might  be  with  forcing  his  way 
through  the  abattis  in  the  storming.     The  broad  stripe 
down  the  leg  which  I  could  see,  was  partly  gone.     The 
shoes  were  worn  by  marching ;    the  blouse  was  out  at 
elbows.     The  face,  as  I  said,  rested  upon  the  hand ; 
the  hand  was  clenched,  and  lay  just  under  the  ear.    The 
sleeve  of  the  blouse  had  slipped  down  upon  the  fore- 


296  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

arm,  showing  the  lean  muscles  very  plainly.  With  the 
other  hand,  the  soldier  held  his  bayonet,  with  which  he 
was  listlessly  marking  in  the  sand.  He  appeared  to  be 
absorbed  in  thought,  and  wholly  unconscious  that  he 
was  sitting  for  his  portrait.  And  now  comes  the  strange 
thing. 

"  I  stood  looking  at  it  for  a  moment  or  two ;  there 
was  such  a  story  in  the  picture,  such  a  suggestion  of  ter- 
rible force  and  strife  and  hardship ;  the  ploughed  and 
seared  earth  ;  the  splintered  cannon  ;  the  riven  timbers  ; 
the  gaunt  and  tattered  soldier  !  — when,  lo  !  I  noticed, 
that  across  the  soldier's  arm  there  ran  a  deep  scar ;  and 
the  ear,  just  above  it  too,  I  could  see,  among  the  hair, 
had  been  partly  carried  away,  I  studied  what  could  be 
seen  of  the  face,  with  all  my  power  of  vision.  It  was 
shaded  by  the  visor,  and  partly  hidden  by  a  heavy  beard ; 
but  I  could  see  enough  of  it  to  make  me  sure  it  was 
Herbert  Lee ! 

"  The  Blancards  started  at  my  exclamation.  It  was 
in  that  same  parlor,  you  know,  that  I  came  upon  the 
trace  of  Herbert  at  Castleton.  They  heard  my  explana- 
tion with  great  interest,  as  we  studied  the  picture 
to^rether.  The  views  had  come  from  an  establishment 
in  the  city ;  and  I  went  at  once  to  the  place  to  make 
some  inquiries.  I  was  not  very  sanguine,  when  I  began 
to  ask  the  proprietor,  if  he  could  tell  where  and  by 
whom  the  picture  was  taken.  He  gave  the  name  of  his 
employee,  however,  at  once,  by  whom  it  was  done  ;  ad- 
ding that  he  was  now  at  home  and  in  the  establishment. 
I  began  to  feel  more  hopeful,  and  asked  to  see  the  man. 


THE    CLEW.  297 

He  remembered,  at  once,  all  the  circumstances  of  taking 
the  picture.  He  named  the  place,  and  the  day  when  it 
was  done.  He  remembered  the  soldier,  as  a  manly- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  very  grave  and  thoughtful  face. 
He  was  so  absorbed,  that  the  photographist  knew  Bfe  had 
no  idea  of  what  was  being  done,  when  he  arranged  his 
instrument. 

"'Now,'  said  I,  and  I  shrank  at  the  thought  of 
another  disappointment,  *have  you  any  recollection 
of  the  troops  who  were  holding  this  position  at  the 
time  when  the  picture  was  taken  ?  '  He  fortunately  re- 
membered that  it  was  the  famous  Lowell  Regiment. 
You  know  that  that  regiment  is  in  Gen.  Holyoake's 
division.  Of  course,  my  association  with  Holyoake  in 
past  years  causes  me  to  watch  his  course  with  much 
interest.  I  eagerly  read  every  newspaper  mention  of 
him,  and  the  achievements  of  his  division.  You  know 
how  noted  this  -Lowell  Regiment  has  been,  and  how 
often  it  has  received  distinguished  notice.  So  the  two 
old  rivals  have  been  close  together  all  this  time.  How 
my  suspicions  that  I  wrote  to  you  about  are  confirmed ! 
When  Holyoake  stood  that  night  before  Leonora  and 
me,  in  the  hospital,  he  had  been  face  to  face  with  Her- 
bert ;  I  am  as  sure  of  it  now  as  I  am  that  I  sit  here. 

"  I  am  so  situated,  that  I  cannot  start  at  once  for  the 
army ;  but  I  shall  go  as  soon  as  it  Is  possible.  I  should 
feel  much  confidence,  but  twice  before  we  have  been  so 
sadly  disappointed.  Meantime,  I  have  already  written 
to  Leonora.  Herbert  has  been  in  her  immediate  neigh- 
borhood again  and  again.     Very  possibly,  he  has  seen 

13* 


298  THE   THINKING    BAYONET. 

her ;  for  she  has  been  no  stranger  in  the  camps.  Even 
now,  I  think  it  will  be  an  easy  matter  for  her  to  get  to 
the  front,  and  make  inquiries.  An  ordinary  woman 
would  hardly  do  it.  I  suppose  it  is  entirely  uncon- 
ventional for  a  woman  to  go  searching  for  her  lover 
through  an  army :  but  Leonora  is  not  bound  by  such 
rules ;  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  as  soon  as  she  receives 
my  note,  will  go  out  to  find  this  noble  knight  of  hers, 
—  so  high  and  true,  and  so  suffering." 


KESTORED.  299 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


RESTORED. 


With  the  two  great  armies,  it  is  manoeuvre  upon  ma- 
noeuvre. Breaking  camp  at  nightfall,  a  division,  with 
careful  and  silent  tread,  creeps  toward  a  forest.  The 
crack  of  rifles  in  front,  and  the  galloping  back  of  the 
cavalry  in  the  rear ;  then  the  rapid  rattle  and  sud- 
den sputtering  from  under  the  trees.  So  the  enemy 
is  felt. 

Break  camp  again,  and  ford  a  stream ;  the  water 
swashing  about  the  thousand  knees  and  thighs,  while 
the  brown  hands  hold  up  the  cartridge-boxes  above  the 
wet,  and  keep  up  the  guns.  They  climb  the  ridge  op- 
posite. A  puff  of  smoke  now,  from  a  mile  away,  as 
the  federal  infantry  moves  out  upon  the  plain  ;  then 
the  roar  of  an  approaching  rifle-shell,  and  the  dull  dis- 
charge.    The  enemy  are  there  too,  and  awake. 

Out  in  a  broad  plain.  The  fences  that  marked  the 
boundaries  of  farms  have  gone  for  firewood ;  the  man- 
sion is  burned ;  an  old  shed  or  two  only  are  standing 
near  the  charred  timbers ,  where  gather  soldiers  and  ne- 
groes about  the  old  well ;   the  horses  of  videttes  tied 


300  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

near  the  solitary  chimney.  A  mile  away,  the  woods  are 
blue ;  and,  within  their  shadow,  where  all  is  so  quiet,  a 
gun  is  thrice  discharged  ;  then  a  volley.  Then  come  out 
pickets,  and  their  reserves  ;  and  now  is  heard  the  Jong 
roll  throbbing  along  the  drums  of  a  whole  corps. 
Meanwhile,  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  a  long,  gray  hne 
is  seen  slowly  moving.  It  looks  like  a  train  of  gray- 
bodied  cars,  slowly  drawn  from  north  to  south ;  but  the 
general,  on  the  little  knoll  here,  can  see  through  his 
field-glass  that  they  are  the  thick,  crowding  sections  of 
a  great  hostile  column.  But  keep  cool  and  wary.  It 
is  only  a  feint  or  a  demonstration.  The  danger  is  in 
another  quarter. 

And  so  two  chiefs,  as  it  were,  with  mighty  steel- 
armed  knuckles,  —  with  bosses  and  spikes,  such  as 
never  the  cestus  of  ancient  boxer  knew, — feint  and 
parry  and  guard,  over  many  a  league  of  weary  coun- 
try, where  the  homesteads  are  burned,  the  crops 
trampled  into  the  earth,  and  the  substance  of  the  land 
devoured. 

Herbert  has  tried  to  march  too  soon ;  and  broken 
do\\Ti,  as  we  saw.  But  there  is  solid  pith  in  those  thews 
and  muscles  of  his  that  have  come  to  show  so  plain ;  and 
a  little  time  of  rest,  under  circumstances  when  he  can 
get  rather  better  fare  and  care  than  is  usual,  begins  to 
bring  fulness  again  to  his  pale  face.  It  is  morning, 
when  at  last  he  resumes  his  place,  and  takes  his  gun 
in  hand.  The  Lowell  Kegiment  is  in  camp  on  the  bank 
of  a  stream  :  there  are  pebbles  in  the  bottom  of  it. 
The  stream  flows   clear,  and  wdth  a  rush  and  gurgle, 


RESTORED.  301 

like  the  voice  of  a  northern  brook.  Herbert  leaves  his 
blankets  under  the  stack,  and  equipments  hanging  from 
his  bayonet,  and  goes  down  to  bathe.  Soldiers  in  the 
water  laugh,  and  dash  water  at  each  other ;  their  hands 
and  faces  of  bronze,  contrasting  with  the  Saxon  fairness 
of  their  sinewy  bodies ;  and  cavalry  horses  at  the  ford 
plunge  and  whinny,  as  they  did  when  they  were  colts 
by  mountain  brooks  in  Vermont.  The  brook  sweeps 
and  swirls,  and  the  soldiers  tread  among  the  rounded 
pebbles,  and  roll  and  swim  and  laugh,  —  the  luxury  of 
such  a  bath  not  to  be  enjoyed  oftener  than  once  in  the 
course  of  a  long  campaign.  The  brook  Avashes  the 
gloom  out  of  Herbert's  soul  almost,  as  well  as  the  sweat 
and  grime  of  sickness  from  his  hmbs.  So  he  thinks, 
as  he  feels  a  glowing  health  once  more  pervading  his 
frame,  and  looks  out  upon  life  with  a  more  cheerful 
glance. 

He  sees  an  aide  come  galloping  to  the  tent  of  the  col- 
onel. In  another  moment,  the  sergeant-major  is  on  the 
run ;  and  presently  a  drum  is  beating  the  sudden  call 
to  fall  in,  from  the  end  of  the  line  of  stacks.  A  battle 
is  beginning.  Now  and  then,  for  some  time,  from  not 
far  away,  have  come  in  the  crash  of  cannon,  and  the 
sound  of  musketry ;  but  these  are  ordinary  sounds  >  and 
attract  no  attention.  The  enemy  lie  not  far  in  front. 
There  is  a  low,  brown,  dusty  heap,  bent  into  curves  and 
angles,  running  along  the  soil,  with  a  shallow  ditch  be- 
hind ;  and  within  this  lies  a  strong  line  of  their  infantry. 
These  works  are  to  be  stormed,  and  Holyoake  is  to 
lead  the  stormers,  — the  vehement  soldier,  whose  vehe- 


302  THE   THINKING   BAYONET. 

mence,  however,  is  tempered  with  judgment ;  the  hope 
of  the  department  in  which  he  serves. 

In  column  stands  the  Lowell  Regiment  now,  —  com- 
pany behind  company,  with  no  excitement,  but  cool  and 
calm  as  befits  veterans  so  brown  and  gashed :  sturdy 
men,  standing  in  long  blue  rows,  as  if  planted  on  the 
soil,  and  coming  up  there  like  natural  growths.  Death, 
like  a  gardener,  more  than  once,  has  gone  down  those 
rows,  thinning  them  out,  here  and  there ;  and  to-day 
he  is  to  thin  them  out  again.  While  they  wait,  Herbert 
rests  his  rifle  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  and  tightens,  by 
another  hole,  the  belt  at  his  waist.  Gen.  Holyoake  is 
dressed  like  a  common  soldier  for  the  work  of  this  day. 
His  men  know  well  his  face,  and  he  does  not  need  his 
star.  He  walks  his  horse  slowly  through  the  ranks  of 
the  storming  party,  with  his  aides  behind  him. 

In  a  moment,  the  order  comes  to  go  forward.  They 
are  to  move  on  to  a  ravine,  within  which,  after  taking 
breath,  they  are  to  form  for  the  assault.  There  is  no 
sound  of  drum,  only  the  tramp,  tramp,  and  the  click 
of  muskets,  as  one  barrel  happens  to  touch  another. 
Drums  and  fifes  to-day  are  pushed  aside ;  those  who 
play  them  sitting  close  upon  the  field,  behind  a  little 
rise,  silently  ready  with  the  stretchers.  Already,  these 
are  dark  from  blood,  that  has  soaked  them  on  previous 
battle-days.  Pat  goes,  his  steady  foot  falling  close  upon 
the  heel  of  his  file-leader ;  his  eye  glancing  to  the  side 
now  and  then,  that  he  may  keep  the  dress.  His  cheek 
is  gashed ;  two  fingers  are  gone ;  and,  through  his  shirt 
front,  open  down  his  breast,  you  can  see  a  great  furrow, 


RESTORED.  303 

a  heavy  piece  of  subsoiling,  done  by  one  of  those  quick 
driven  leaden  ploughs,  just  where  the  shoulder  rises  into 
"the  neck.  "Bedad!  they  fetch  me  i very  time,"  whis- 
pers Pat  jovially  to  his  neighbor,  their  elbows  touching 
as  they  dress  ;  and  Herbert,  on  the  flank,  who  is  in  a 
cheerful  mood,  says,  that  he  believes  they  make  a  tally- 
stick  of  Pat,  to  notch  the  battles  of  the  campaign  on. 
Pat  is  cheerful,  and  so  Herbert,  —  who,  though  still 
haggard,  marches  buoyantly. 

Bodies  of  troops  move  to  one  side,  making  way  for 
the  stormers.  They  would  cheer  as  they  look  after 
them,  only  it  is  ordered  that  no  unnecessary  sound  be 
made  which  might  attract  the  enemy's  attention, — 
though  cheering,  were  it  done  by  stentors,  could  never 
be  heard  through  the  cannonade  which  begins  to  roar 
more  and  more  wildly.  The  leaves  quiver  in  the  agi- 
tated air ;  and,  in  the  concussion,  Herbert  almost  feels 
the  hair  blow  out  from  under  his  cap.  At  last,  they  stand 
in  the  narrow  ravine,  into  which,  now  and  then,  a  shell 
comes  tossing  ;  bursting  on  the  ground,  with  a  throwing 
up  of  dust,  and  the  fall  of  a  few  men ;  or  in  th6  au-, 
leaving  a  beautiful  ring  of  wreathing  smoke  to  float 
above  the  heads  of  those  who  are  slain  by  the  falling 
frao-ments, — a  nimbus  of  Mars  sent  down  to  decorate 
the  brows  of  those  who  bravely  die. 

Settle  the  cap  firmly  upon  the  head,  with  strap  be- 
neath the  chin.  Tighten  the  belt  each  one.  Take  the 
old  cap  from  the  nipple  of  the  gun,  and  make  sure  with 
the  wire,  that  the  pathway  of  the  spark  is  clear  down 
to  the  powder.     Cap  it  afresh.     Did  you  load?     Make 


304  THE    THINKIXG   BAYONET. 

sure  with  the  ramrod  that  the  pointed  ball  rests  on  top 
of  the  charge.  Fix  the  bayonet  firm,  so  that  it  will  not 
turn.     Now,  piece  at  the  order,  and  wait. 

Holjoake  has  dismounted ;  his  horse  is  led  to  the 
rear.  The  corps-commander  dismounts  ;  and  the  two 
figures,  one  with  hair  of  iron-gray,  the  other  in  his  young 
prime,  climb  the  slope  of  the  ravine  and  reconnoitre, 
while  the  line  below  silently  watch.  "  It  is  a  service  of 
danger,  Holyoake,"  says  the  elder  general,  putting  away 
his  field-glas^,  after  peering  through  the  thicket  which 
screens  the  two  figures,  "  but  I  trust  you  will  go  through 
safely."  "Is  there  no  danger  in  that  grove?"  says  Hol- 
yoake,  pointing  to  the  right,  where,  on  one  side  of  the 
clearing  before  the  rebel  position,  rises  a  forest  of  tall 
trees  and  thick  underbrush.  "How  can  there  be?" 
says  the  other  :  "  Col.  Hanley's  scouts  searched  through 
there  this  morning,  to  within  ten  rods  of  tlie  rebel  earth- 
work. They  could  not  send  out  a  considerable  body 
without  our  knowledge.  If  I  thought  there  was  danger, 
I  would  shell  the  place  from  a  battery  or  two  ;  but  there 
can  be  none." 

Holyoake  goes  down  to  his  men,  and  walks  along 
his  line.  "  It  is  not  far,"  he  says  to  a  colonel :  "  rough 
ground  at  first,  but  smoother,  as  we  go  nearer,  and  at 
last,  we  can  double  quick."  And  now,  the  line  climbs 
silently  to  the  top  of  the  sheltering  ravine.  For  a  mo- 
ment, they  halt;  then,  with  a  report  in  unison,  and  a 
burst  of  fire,  forth  goes  as  the  sudden  harbinger  of 
their  approach,  a  rain  of  balls.  They  are  out  of  the 
ditch,  and  upon  the  field  in  solemn  battle  order.    In  the 


RESTORED.  305 

Lowell  Regiment,  the  tall  color-bearer,  holding  out  the 
flag,  is  out  a  few  paces  in  advance :  a  guard  on  each 
side.  Behind  him,  in  the  line,  goes  the  brown  and 
sturdy  corporal,  whose  duty  it  is  to  walk  straight  in 
his  sergeant's  tracks ;  and  toward  his  broad  shoulders, 
as  leans  an  arch  toward  the  sides  of  the  keystone,  from 
right  to  left  the  line  presses.  Through  them  now  tear 
the  shot  of  cannon,  and  the  volleys  of  infantry.  "Close 
up  !  "  call  the  captains,  and  the  gaps  are  closed.  In  the 
charging  force,  is  a  regiment  of  negroes,  with  limbs 
marred  sometimes,  and  backs  rldo^inQ^  into  huo^e  wales, 
where  the  whip  has  taken  hold ;  men  w^ho  have  thrown 
off  the  loose,  hang-dog  shuffle  of  the  slave,  for  the  erect 
head  and  steady  tread  of  the  soldier.  The  blacks  rush 
side  by  side  with  the  Saxons,  who  are  tanned  and  har- 
dened, till,  in  hue  and  vigor,  they  are  like  men  of  iron. 
So  they  go  in  line,  the  two  races,  like  carbon  and  iron 
blending  together  into  a  blade  of  terrible  steel,  sweeping 
on,  to  cut  its  way  through  the  foe. 

Now  it  is  smooth  for  a  few  yards  ;  now  there  is  the 
trunk  of  a  felled  tree  for  a  company  to  climb  over  ;  now 
a  pool,  through  which  the  line  must  splash.  "  Keep  the 
line, — keep  the  line  !  "  the  colonels  shoiit ;  and  swaying 
and  swinging  from  wing  to  wing,  but  forward  ever,  the 
line  sweeps  on.  It  is  a  desperate  piece  of  work.  They 
fall  thick  and  fast.  For  a  moment,  in  a  little  depres- 
sion, Herbert  stoops,  while  the  opposite  wing,  hindered 
by  a  deep  guUey,  is  coming  up  again  into  line,  to  fix 
firm  again  in  its  socket  the  bayonet,  turned  a  little  in 
its  place  by  a  blow  against  a  branch.     Then,  again,  it 


306  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

is  forward.  Now  they  are  far  on  their  way.  Holyoake, 
whose  blouse  is  pierced,  and  hand  slightly  wounded, 
wonders,  as  he  turns  his  eye  backward,  why  he  can  see 
no  trace  of  his  supports,  which  should  be  emerging  from 
the  ravine  behind ;  then,  occasionally,  gives  an  uneasy 
glance  at  the  woods  to  his  right.  There  are  not  many 
yards  to  gain  ;  but  the  air,  all  about,  whistles  with  hos- 
tile projectiles,  and  thick  behind  lie  the  fallen. 

And  now,  what  is  this  cry  from  the  right?  the  yell, 
and  the  sudden  enfilading  fire  ;  then  an  outburst  of  gray, 
quick-moving  multitudes,  in  a  long  line,  stretching  from 
the  rebel  earthwork  far  down,  and  now  sweeping  round 
like  a  great  arm,  to  hurry  the  storming  column  captive 
right  into  the  fortress  of  their  foes  !  "  Charged  on 
the  flank  !  "  cries  Gen.  ^Holyoake.  In  a  moment  his 
party  is  halted,  now  becoming  more  and  more  confused 
in  the  terrible  cross-fire ;  but  a  new  formation  to  resist 
the  charge  is  impossible.  Onward  they  come,  and  who 
is  the  bare-headed  leader  who  heads  them  ?  Do  we  not 
know  the  face,  pale  and  eager ;  the  fierce  eye ;  the 
slight,  straight  figure?  Claiborne  is  buttoned  in  his 
gray  garb  to  the  chin,  with  the  badges  of  a  colonel  em- 
broidered heavily  in  gold  braid  upon  the  collar.  When 
last  those  three  men  stood  together,  it  was  in  the  sun- 
set, under  the  old  Havenbridge  elm,  taking  from  one 
another's  hands  flowers.  Herbert  knows  the  voice  and 
fiice.  In  the  confusion,  he  has  sought  his  general's 
side ;  his  powerful  arm  ready  with  the  bayonet,  and  a 
flush  upon  his  brow  ;  for  there  is  no  weakness  now  in  his 
frame.     A  moment  more,  and  a  shot  has  gone  into  Her- 


RESTORED.  307 

bert's  groin.  He  falls  fainting ;  but  as  the  rebel  colonel 
in  the  rush  comes  close  upon  him,  "  I  know  you,  Clai- 
borne !  "  and  he  sinks.  "  God  forgive  me,  Herbert !  is 
it  you?"  then  Claiborne  passes  on.  Holyoake,  with  a 
badly  wounded  thigh,  totters  and  faints,  with  a  shout 
upon  his  lips. 

Now  the  tardy  supports  are  advancing  with  cheers 
from  the  ravine  behind,  but  too  late  to  save  the  storming 
party.  They  dare  not  fire  as  they  approach,  for  friend 
and  foe  are  intermingled ;  and  soon  those  that  are  left 
alive,  swept  oiF  by  the  unexpected  rush,  hot  and  pant- 
ing, are  hurried  as  captives  over  the  earthwork,  which 
they  had  hoped  to  enter  as  victors.  It  is  done  in  a  mo- 
ment ;  the  cry,  the  swift  rush,  the  crashing  volley,  the 
driving:  forward  of  the  confused  and  routed  mass.  All 
are  soon  behind  the  shelter  of  the  ridge  ;  and  upon  the 
space  in  front,  only  remain  those,  "who  ne'er  shall  fight 
again."  A  few  of  the  storming  party,  Pat  for  one,  get 
back  anions:  their  friends. 

Herbert's  pain  is  great,  but  he  does  not  bleed  pro- 
fusely. From  Holyoake's  wound,  on  the  contrary, 
comes  the  intermittent  gush,  which  is  drawing  hard 
right  upon  the  heart.  Herbert  drinks  from  his  canteen 
until  it  is  nearly  emptied ;  then,  somewhat  revived, 
looks  about  liim.  It  is  only  a  rod  or  two  to  the  gen- 
eral, and  toward  him  Herbert  slowly  drags  himself; 
then  falls,  dizzy  with  the  effort,  at  his  side.  The  long 
ffternoon  is  before  them.  The  unbroken  rage  of  the 
sun  beats  down  upon  them.  They  lie  within  easy  rifle 
range  of  the  rebel  work ;  but  no  foe  can  come  to  them, 


308  THE    TIIINKIXG    BAYONET. 

through  fear  of  the  regiments  in  the  ravine,  —  and  no 
help  can  come  from  the  ravine  until  nightfall,  for  fear  of 
the  foe.  Side  by  side  they  lie  again,  as  they  did  when 
they  were  boys  in  the  room  at  Ilavenbridge,  when  Hol- 
yoake  poured  out  in  the  night  his  ambitious  longings. 
A  fallen  tree  lies  Upon  the  ground  just  in  front  of  them, 
and,  when  lying  flat,  they  are  screened  from  the  rebel 
bullets.  Holyoake  still  bleeds  profusely.  Herbert  is 
weak  and  deathly  sick,  but  he  manages  to  knot  a  hand- 
kerchief about  Holyoake's  thigh;  then,  with  a  ramrod 
near,  with  the  extemporized  tourniquet,  the  dangerous" 
leaping  of  the  stream  is  at  length  stayed.  But  Herbert 
faints  asrain.  When  he  revives,  it  is  with  a  most  bitter 
and  unrelenting  heat  that  the  sun  beats  down,  and  as 
bitter  and  unrelenting,  a  few  feet  above  their  bodies, 
hurtle  the  bullets  from  friend  and  foe.  Holyoake, 
hardly  conscious,  with  pale  lips,  is  moaning  "water, — 
water."  Herbert,  too,  has  emptied  his  store  ;  and  in  his 
pain,  feels  the  terrible  thirst. 

Now  it  is  the  hot  noon.  Pat,  the  "  old  tally-stick," 
lies  in  the  ravine,  among  his  friends,  —  well  shaded, 
with  a  cool  spring  at  hand  ;  restless  and  sad.  Can  Pat 
bear  it,  that  Herbert  should  lie  there  so  parched? 
Pat  was  close  by  when  he  fell,  and  saw  that  the  hurt 
did  not  bring  death.  Pat  will  get  a  canteen  to  him,  if 
he  dies  for  it.  Perhaps  it  can  be  done  :  but  it  is  a  des- 
perate venture.  Rough  is  old  Pat,  profane,  and  some- 
times a  thief;  out  and  in  rude  and  uncouth;  but,  if 
gratitude,  and  fearlessness,  and  devotion  of  self  for  an- 
other make  up  a  man,  then,  surely,  is  Pat  one;   yet, 


RESTORED.  309 

one  wonders  what  will  be  done  with  him  in  heaven, 
when  he  gets  there.  Pat  takes  a  canteen,  fills  it  care- 
fully, so  that  no  grit  shall  mingle  with  the  pure  water ; 
then  wets  the  felt  covering,  that  the  evaporation  may- 
increase  the  coolness.  Out  of  the  ravine,  —  then  from  a 
stump  through  the  high  grass  to  a  thicket.  Pretty  safe 
so  far.  But  now  more  carefully,  Pat.  That  has  taken 
a  good  fifteen  minutes.  He  is  wary  as  a  fox,  eluding, 
through  the  stubble,  watching  hunters.  Rest  now  a  mo- 
ment, and  reconnoitre.  Farther  on  is  the  long,  prostrate 
trunk  of  a  tree ;  but  between  Pat  and  the  tree  are 
twenty  rods  of  bare,  exposed  ground.  Pat  springs  out, 
and  crosses  it  at  a  nm,  falling  flat  on  his  face  at  the 
end.  "Thud  —  thud,"  two  bullets  knock  to  pieces  the 
hard,  baked  earth,  which  his  feet  have  just  passed.  They 
have  marked  him  from  the  ridge.  "What  a  quare 
place  they  thought  to  mak'  ould  Pat's  nist,  thim  thaives 
o'  the  wur-r-ld  !  "  this  with  a  shrug,  and  a  jovial  glance 
backward  at  the  red  unsheltered  ground,  upon  which  ifc 
is  only  good  fortune  that  his  lifeless  body  is  not  lying. 
Flat  upon  his  back,  the  little  trunk  rising  just  above  his 
breast,  Pat  lies  quiet  for  a  time  ;  then  draws  his  body  to 
the  end,  and  looks  cautiously  out  through  a  tuft  of 
weeds.  Another  run  will  bring  him  to  a  depression  in 
the  ground,  where,  by  lying  down,  he  may  be  again 
shielded.  Out  he  springs  ;  in  an  instant  a  bullet  has 
torn  through  his  cap,  —  but  Pat  is  safe  again  at  the  little 
hollow.  On  the  edge  above  lies  the  body  of  a  slain 
soldier.  He  crawls  cautiously  up.  The  soldier  lies  on 
his  back,  with  his  knee  bent ;  and  Pat,  peering  beneath, 


310  THE    THINKIXG   BAYONET. 

— the  rosy  face  close  at  the  blue,  patched  pant  of  the  sol- 
dier, —  can  see  now  Herbert  and  the  general :  Holyoake 
still,  outstretched,  with  death- pale  face  and  feebly  mut- 
tering lips ;  Herbert,  with  the  corner  of  his  blouse 
thro\\Ti  over  his  face  to  keep  off  the  sun. 

Perhaps,  from  here,  the  canteen  can  be  thrown. 
"  Whist,  sar-r-mnt !  "  No  siorn  from  Herbert.  Then 
Pat  tosses  a  small  piece  of  earth.  Herbert  moves  a 
hand,  and,  putting  down  the  blouse,  slowly  turns  his 
head.  Pat  starts  up  upon  his  knees,  to  give  his  arm 
full  swing;  then  throws  the  canteen,  —  not  less  noble 
than  the  knight  in  song,  who  threw  the  heart  of  the 
Bruce^  in  its  silver  casket,  far  forward  among  the  foe, 
—  then  followed  to  die  upon  it.  It  falls  within  Her- 
bert's reach.  "H'm — s'p,"  above  the  ground,  and  Pat 
falls  heavily  forward.  "  Bedad  !  it's  the  last  notch  !  " 
and  the  soul  looks  out,. for  the  last  time,  from  the  fast 
glazing  eye  of  this  uncombed  ]\Iercutio,  with  a  merry 
glance,  —  a  spirit  as  gallant  and  happy  as  that  which 
the  sword  of  Tybalt  puts  to  flight. 

Through  Herbert's  mind,  as  he  lies  gasping,  with 
eyes  upon  this  dear  dead  friend,  passes  the  solemn  re- 
membrance of  an  old  legend,  — •  how  a  king  was  in  an 
hold  and  garrison  of  the  Philistines,  and  how  he  longed 
and  said,  "  Oh  that  one  would  give  me  a  ckink  of  the 
water  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  which  is  by  the  gate  !  " 
then  three  mighty  men,  Adino,  Eleazar,  and  Shammah, 
brake  through  the  host  of  the  Philistines,  and  drew  water 
out  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem  that  was  by  the  gate,  and 
took  it  and  brought  it  to  David.     Then  the  king,  would 


RESTORED.  311 

not  drink  thereof,  but  poured  it  out  unto  the  Lprd,  say- 
ing, "Be  it  far  from  me,  O  Lord,  that  I  should  do 
this  :  is  not  this  as  it  were  the  blood  of  the  men  that 
went  in  jeopardy  of  their  lives  ?  "  It  was  an  old  story 
that  his  mother  had  read  him  long  years  ago,  and  it 
came  into  his  dim  mind  as  he  lay  there  in  his  extremity. 
"It  is,  indeed,"  he  thought,  "as  it  were  the  blood  of 
him  who  w^ent  in  jeopardy  of  his  life,  and  laid  it 
down." 

"  Water,  —  water,"  muttered  Holyoake  :  "  will  no 
one  bring  me  water  ?  "  Then  Herbert  poured  it  out  unto 
the  Lord.  Dashing  from  his  eyes  the  faintness  and 
blur,  he  raised  the  handsome  head,  turned  the  cool  drops 
about  the  temples,  and  into  the  thick,  curling  hair,  then 
put  the  canteen  to  the  lips.  The  dark  eyes  slowly 
opened.  "  O,  Herbert  Lee,  may  God  forgive  me  !  Is 
it  you  that  gives  me  this  ?  "  But  Herbert's  conscious- 
ness was  gone. 

Throus^h  the  heat  of  afternoon,  and  now  the  sun  sank 
red,  and  the  firing  ceased.  A  frightened  bird  or  two 
dared  to  flutter,  and  pipe  tremblingly  in  the  little  bushes 
here  and  there ;  and  the  little  chameleons,  in  coats  of 
fairy  velvet,  with  tapering  heads  turned  on  one  side, 
peered  curiously  down  upon  the  rough  veteran  there, 
60  scarred  and  stained  and  still,  and  upon  the  motion- 
less forms  of  the  young  leader  whose  life  was  going, 
and  of  him  who  lay  at  his  side.  Under  the  cool, 
damp  night,  Herbert  revived,  but  a  heavy  faintness 
lay  upon  his  mind  ;  gray  and  dark,  within  his  conscious- 
ness, like  heavy  mist  coming  fast  on  the  horizon  to 


312  THE   THINKING  BAYONET. 

blot  out,  a  clear  day,  a  faintness  that  seemed  to  come 
nearer,  and  he  thought  it  was  death.  But  he  lay  full 
of  peace. 

Now  it  is  night.  Stars  above ;  in  the  horizon,  low- 
ering clouds,  muttering  and  luminous ;  and  now  and 
then  the  sullen,  distant  boom  of  artillery.  Cautiously 
creeping  out  comes  a  party  with  stretchers,  headed  by  a 
surgeon.  "Do  you  say  it  was  near  here?"  "Near 
here,"  says  the  guide,  "I  saw  him  fall,  and  remember 
the  tree." — "Found,"  says  the  other,  as  they  turn  Hol- 
yoake's  face  into  the  light  of  the  dim  lantern.  "Here 
with  the  spirit.  Chafe  his  temples.  There  is  —  yes  — 
I  am  sure  —  there  is  a  pulse."  The  general  revives  a 
little,  and  they  lift  him  on  to  a  stretcher.  "  The  ser- 
geant there,  — bring  him,"  he  says,  feebly;  so  Herbert 
is  raised,  and  borne  away  too.  "  Odd,"  says  the  surgeon  ; 
"  a  colonel  and  two  majors  certainly  on  the  field,  and 
yet  we  take  off  this  sergeant."  Slow  go  the  bearers, 
with  broken  step,  that  they  may  not  jar  their  burden. 
They  come  to  the  road,  where  there  are  torches  and 
ambulances,  and  a  crowd  of  armed  men.  The  hght 
falls  on  great  trees  at  the  side,  upon  the  brass  of  a  can- 
non, upon  a  pool  in  the  road.  "The  general,  —  the 
general,"  goes  low  from  mouth  to  mouth.  The  stretch- 
ers are  fitted  to  slide  into  grooves  within  the  ambulances. 
"Here,  driver,  lift  up  the  head  gently  now,  and  slide  it 
forward.  Turn  up  the  tarpaulin,  to  give  him  all  the  air 
he  needs.  The  brandy  here  !  I'll  ride  in  front,  and 
keep  the  bandages  wet  till  we  get  to  the  hospital."  So 
speaks  the  surgeon.  Holyoake  revives  again  ;  and,  turn- 


EESTOEED.  313 

ing  his  dim  eyes  from  side  to  side,  under  the  glare  of  the 
torches,  sees  Herbert.  "Put  him  here,  by  the  side  of 
me."  So  four  stout  soldiers  lift  Herbert,  and  they  are 
side  by  side  once  more.  "He  gave  him  water  on  the 
field,  and  kept  him  alive,"  says  one.  That  is  all  they 
know. 

By  and  by,  from  where  the  ambulance  had  stood, 
goes  out  a  burial  party  to  the  field.  Low,  in  the  east, 
—  it  is  late  at  night,  —  floats  the  old  moon.  From  the 
woods  hoots  the  dismal  owl.  Out  of  the  mist,  lying  heavy 
and  gray  above  the  rebel  rifle-pits,  now  and  then  darts 
a  tongue  of  flame,  with  a  sharp  report.  A  long,  shallow 
trench ;  a  long  row  of  blue-clad  corpses  at  the  bottom. 
"  Pete,  this  is  the  man  that  tried  to  carry  out  the  water. 
I'll  lift  him  here  by  the  shoulders,  where  the  old  wound 
is,  and  you  take  him  at  the  knees.  How  sharp  they 
shoot  to-night !  "  So  they  bear  him  away  to  the  soldier's 
burial,  —  his  rugged  hand  dragging  along  the  ground, 
hitting  a  canteen  in  the  grass  where  Holyoake  and  Her- 
bert had  lain. 

The  road  before  the  ambulance  is  rough.  Holyoake 
at  first  breathes  heavily,  then  grows  more  quiet.  The 
surojeon  touches  the  bandao^es  about  the  wound.  "  Ah  ! 
very  wet."  He  is  bleeding  stiU.  "He  would  never 
have  lived  until  now,  sergeant,  but  for  you;  and  you 
must  have  brandy.  You  would  not  have  held  out  much 
longer."  So  onward  they  go  slowly.  Now  they  meet 
a  sentry  or  two,  then  squads  of  men;  then  regiments, 
going  silent  under  the  dark  to  re-enforce  the  advance. 
Yonder  is  a  great  tent,  whose  sides  are  open  to  the  air. 

14 


314  THE   THINKIXG  BAYONET. 

Within  it  are  moving  lights,  and  on  the  grouna  are 
rows  regular  and  close,  —  the  wounded,  just  from  the 
field,  and  above  go  men,  stooping  to  wet  hurts  with  cold 
water,  and  bringing  lint,  and  holding  cool  drink  to 
stiffening  lips.  Torches  flare  at  the  door.  At  one  side 
is  the  horseman,  who  has  ridden  forward  with  word  to 
make  ready  for  the  general ;  and  who  is  it  that  stands 
in  the  front  of  the  tent,  —  so  calm  and  grave,  with  arms 
bared?  It  is  Leonora,  stately  in  the  torchlight,  by  the 
surgeon  in  charge.  Slide  out  the  general,  ready  hands 
of  men.  Softly  to  the  ground.  How  pale  and  still ! 
"Does  the  heart  beat,  surgeon?"  "Gone,  I  fear." 
The  beauty  lay  upon  the  face  as  Leonora  knelt  beside 
him  ;  upon  the  lip  and  the  arching  brow  and  the  aquiline 
curve  below.  So,  often,  on  many  a  field  he  had  ridden, 
like  Agamemnon  amono:  his  crested  Greeks  on  the  old 
Trojan  plain;  with  Olympian  might  and  beauty  upon 
head  and  chest  and  stately  limbs  !  "  Farewell,  —  fare- 
well !  "  she  said,  "  heart  that  once  loved  me  !  " 

"  Well,  let  us  have  the  sergeant ;  "  and  the  surgeon 
tells  the  story,  how  the  general,  though  dying,  persisted 
in  keeping  the  sergeant  at  his  side.  "  The  man  would 
have  died,  except  for  that.  He  was  all  but  gone  when 
we  brought  him  off;  but  I  tliink  we  can  save  him." 
The  stretcher  slides  out.  "A  good  figure  of  a  man,  at 
any  rate.  Take  him  at  the  feet  there ;  another  catch 
him  at  the  hips,  carefully  :  the  hurt  is  in  the  groin.  I 
will  hold  the  head.  By  Jove,  a  manly  face  !  Will  the 
lady  bring  the  spirit  ?  He  is  faint  again."  So  the  sur- 
geon. 


RESTORED.  315 

Leonora  brings  the  cup,  and  stoops  down,  kneeling 
with  her  plain  gray  garb  upon  the  earth  ;  with  the  dark 
abundant  hair  trained  away  from  the  brow ;  with  deep 
and  tender  eyes.  A  low  cry,  and  the  cup  falls  from  her 
grasp.  She  sinks,  pale  as  the  face  upon  which  she  has 
looked.  "  She  has  worked  herself  to  death  here,  and  no 
wonder  she  faints,"  says  the  surgeon  of  the  hospital. 
So  they  bear  her  away. 


316  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 


CHAPTER  XX, 


UNITED. 


From  Putnam  May  to  Miss  Louisa  May, 

"Dear  Lou,  — I  have  arrived  here  in  this  southern 
city,  and  really  found  him  at  last.  Thankful,  — thank- 
ful to  God  I  am,  with  my  whole  heart,  that  he  has  per- 
mitted me  to  look  again  into  his  face,  and  bring  him 
hope.  Hero  that  he  is-,  he  is  badly  hurt,  but  now  re- 
covering ;  and  has  a  future  before  him^  I  trust,  as  bright 
and  happy,  as  his  past  for  these  last  years  has  been  full 
of  anguish. 

"  I  went  straight  to  the  Seminary  Hospital  on  my 
arrival,  and  found,  as  I  had  supposed  would  be  the  case, 
that  Leonora,  immediately  upon  the  receipt  of  my  let- 
ter, had  started  for  the  front.  Nothing  had  been  heard 
from  her  since.  She  was  greatly  needed  at  the  hospi- 
tal ;  for  that  terrible  battle  had  just  taken  place,  in 
one  movement  of  which  Holyoake  fell,  —  you  know  the 
particulars  from  the  papers ;  and  large  numbers  of 
wounded  were  daily  expected.  I  left  my  address  with 
the  matron';  asking  that  word  might  be  sent  to  me,  if 
any  news  came  from  Leonora.  The  next  day,  I  re- 
ceived a  note  in  Leonora's  hand.     It  was  very  brief, 


UNITED.  317 

simply  saying  that  she  had  just  returned,  and  wished  to 
see  me.  How  I  am  bound  down,  that  I  have  this  phy- 
sical weakness  !  My  anxiety,  as  I  read  the  note,  was 
so  great,  that  it  brought  on  a  palpitation,  from  the 
effects  of  which  it  was  some  time  before  I  recovered. 
Had  she  found  Herbert,  or  had  the  clew  failed  us  again? 
I  feared  the  last,  for  we  have  been  so  often  disap- 
pointed ;  and  would  she  not  have  given  some  hint,  or 
shown  a  little  joy,  if  she  had  been  successful? 

"When  I  felt  strong  enough,  I  went  at  once  to  the 
hospital,  though  in  a  state  of  suspense  which  hardly 
left  me  any  strength.  I  found,  that,  during  the  night, 
there  had  been  large  arrivals  of  wounded,  who  lay  quiet 
and  w4iite  in  the  cool,  shaded  wards.  The  matron  con- 
ducted me  to  Leonora  at  once.  I  dared  not  ask  if  she 
had  come  back  cast  down,  or  otherwise.  I  thought,  in- 
deed, that  it  would  do  no  good ;  for  Leonora  is  so  thor- 
oughly disciplined,  I  know  it  is  not  often  that  the 
secrets  of  that  deep  spirit  appear  in  the  countenance. 
Pale  faces  lay  everywhere  upon  the  pillows.  I  caught 
sight  of  her  figure,  in  her  plain  nurse's  costume.  Her 
back  was  toward  me  ;  so  that  I  could  only  see  the  dark, 
simply-dressed  masses  of  her  hair,  and  not  the  face, 
which  was  bent  upon  the  cot  in  front. 

"Oh  Lou,  indeed, — indeed,  Herbert  was  there! 
There,  on  the  white  pillow,  lay  the  face  I  know  so  well, 
—  very  white,  for  the  bronze  of  his  exposures  had,  for 
the  most  part,  worn  from  the  skin,  —  with  the  old  genial 
look,  and  the  deep  contemplativeness  within  the  eyes  ; 
and  with  it  all,  an  added  dignity,  that  lay  noble  upon 


318  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

the  lips  and  about  the  brow.  I  bent  down,  and  kissed 
him.  *  God  bless  you^  Putnam,'  he  said,  *  I  was  hoping 
for  this,  but  it  comes  sooner  than  I  thought,'  the  old 
deep  tones,  though  weak  now  through  his  prostration  ! 
Leonora  stood  by  his  pillow,  like  one  whose  place  it  was 
by  right.  '  O  friend,'  she  said,  *  we  owe  it  all  to  you  ! ' 
Then  we  all  fell  to  weeping.  There  was  so  much  soft- 
ness, now,  upon  her  imperial  face,  and  so  much  joy, 
even  while  the  tears  were  falling  !  '  I  will  tell  him  all, 
Herbert ; '  then  she  spoke  low,  and  told  me  how  she 
had  hastened  to  the  front ;  how  Herbert's  regiment  was 
in  action  when  she  arrived,  with  great  difficulty,  close 
upon  the  field ;  how  she  waited,  —  the  solitary  woman, 
—  while  the  roar  of  the  battle  sounded  about  her  ;  how 
she  helped,  through  the  long  day,  and  far  into  the  night ; 
how  word  came  that  Holyoake  had  fallen ;  how  they 
brought  him  in  by  the  light  of  torches  ;  how  she  bent 
over  his  dead  face  until  they  laid  by  his  side  on  the 
ground,  suddenly,  Herbert  Wmself,  scarcely  living,  — 
restored  to  her  by  him  who  had  riven  them  apart. 

"Her  voice  was  very  low  and  calm  and  sweet. 
Then  we  sat  in  silence,  until  Herbert  spoke.  'Is  it 
folly  that  I  have  done  as  I  have  done,  or  will  you  call 
it  something  less  harsh?  By  God's  will,  it  has  been 
my  lot  to  struggle.  In  life,  I  have  sought  to  be  pure, 
though,  for  weary  years,  there  was  in  me  little  enough 
of  the  faith  from  w^hich  pure  actions  flow.  It  broke 
upon  my  soul  at  last ;  I  have  sought  to  cherish  it,  to 
live  from  it.  I  have  sought  to  put  into  my  deeds  some 
strength,  tenderness,  resolution,  loving-kindness,  —  la- 


UNITED.  319 

• 

boring  for  the  welfare  of  men.  The  actual  is  far,  far 
short  of  the  aspiration  ;  but  I  have  tried.  I  have  known 
the  deeps  of  misery.  Such  solemn  and  salutary  chas- 
tening !  Were  I  of  more  tractable  spirit,  I  might  know 
what  it  is  to  be  perfect  through  suffering.' 

"  Leonora  glanced  down  the  apartment ;  ^  It  is  time 
for  him,'  she  said :  then  went  on  to  tell  me  the  rest, 
of  the  strange  story  ;  how  it  was  that  Herbert  had  re- 
ceived his  wound,  in  the  charge  led  by  Claiborne.  A 
few  days  after,  Claiborne  was  taken,  fighting  bravely. 
After  being  taken,  he  inquired  for  Holyoake,  then  for 
the  sergeant  who  fell  near  him ;  and  now,  from  his 
prisoner's  quarters,  he  had  written  to  Herbert  a  note, 
that  he  should  be  allowed,  on  his  parole,  to  come  to  see 
him  on  his  pallet,  — that  he  was  sad  at  heart  to  think 
his  friend  was  hurt.  '  You  see  your  duty,  so  strangely, 
Herbert,'  he  said,  '  and  yet,  I  believe  you  are  sincere. 
We  have  rushed  once,  breast  against  breast.  It  may  be 
so  again,  when  I  am  exchanged,  and  if  you  are  not 
hopelessly  maimed.  Still,  old  friend,  I  hold  you  in 
honor.' 

"  It  was  the  hour  which  he  had  appointed,  but  he 
came  not.  When  I  left  Herbert  and  Leonora,  an  hour 
after,  I  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  broad  balcony  be- 
fore the  hospital,  with  the  orange-trees  in  front,  to  think 
over,  in  the  quiet,  what  had  taken  place.  The  two  sen- 
tries at  the  gate  were  talking  together,  and  I  heard 
their  conversation.  '  They  clinched,  so  I  was  told  ;  then 
the  North  Carolinian  threw  the  colonel  back,  with  all 
his  force.     He  hit  the  rail,  and  fell  over  backward.     It 


320  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

• 

was  the  third  story  ;  and  when  he  was  taken  up,  his  neck 
was  broken.  They  say  he  was  a  smart  officer.  He 
headed  that  flank  movement,  the  other  day,  when  Gen. 
Holyoake  was  killed.'  I  went  down  to  the  man,  and 
got  from  him  the  story.  It  seems,  that  Claiborne  had 
been  quartered  with  other  rebel  officers,  among  whom 
was  a  North  Carolinian.  They  fell  into  a  violent  politi- 
cal discussion,  when  Claiborne  at  last  flew  into  an  un- 
governable rage,  and  made  a  sudden  attack  upon  the 
other.  Claiborne's  opponent  was  a  powerful  man,  and 
the  brawl  resulted  as  the  soldier  had  related. 

"  Then  I  went  to  see  this  other  old  friend.  He  lay 
in  his  gray  uniform, -—the  dead  face  more  mature  and 
full  of  power  than  of  old, — the  marks  of  terrible  pas- 
sion, I  thought,  still  visible  in  the  features;  a  noble 
nature,  upon  which  had  fallen  the  curse." 


The  mountain  at  Meadowboro'  is  a  steep  and  narrow 
elevation,  wooded  near  the  base,  bare  and  precipitous 
toward  the  summit,  where  the  red,  naked  ledges  refuse 
forever  to  be  clad.  Just  at  the  top,  coming  forward 
to  the  brow  of  the  crag,  are  white,  thick-standing 
trunks  of  birches,  like  white  hairs  there  above  a  rugged 
sun-burnt  brow ;  and  so  the  mountain  stands,  looking 
southward  down  the  rejoicing  valley,  as  the  old  desert- 
wearied  Moses  looked  upon  the  promised  land. 

On  a  terrace  above  the  village,  part  way  up  the  moun- 
tain slope,  stands  Putnam  May's  cottage.     Two  miles 


UNITED.  321 

away,  you  can  see  where  the  river  comes  into  the  valley, 
—  a  great  silver  curve  of  calm  water  touching  the  hills 
on  one  side  ;  then  lying  smooth  and  glistening  upon  the 
green  of  the  western  meadows.  A  city  visitor  said 
once,  that  the  farms  that  way  were  sleepy  places.  Let 
it  be  so  :  and  so  did  Endymion  sleep  at  the  base  of  the 
Latmian  peak,  when  Selene,  the  crescent  moon,  flung 
herself  into  his  lap. 

If  you  would  see  the  view  from  Putnam's  cottage, 
look  late  in  the  afternoon  ;  for,  sweet  though  the  valley 
is,  it  is  like  a  beauty  a  little  past  her  first  freshness, 
who  needs  the  shade  of  a  hat-brim,  or  the  draping  of  a 
veil,  to  hide  here  and  there  a  defect.  In  one  place, 
there  is  an  unsightly,  barren  hole,  where  they  dig  out 
gravel ;  in  another,  runs  the  railroad  embankment ;  in 
another  still,  wood  was  cut  off  in  the  winter,  and  the 
acres  hold  up  their  poor  stiuups,  melancholy  as  veterans 
with  amputated  limbs.  At  noon,  it  is  all  too  plain ; 
but  toward  sunset,  the  western  hills  and  the  towering 
forests  fling  back  their  deep,  rich  shadows.  The  rays  of 
afternoon  spin  along  slope  and  nook  and  bending  ridge 
a  gossamer  of  haze,  and  all  is  sweetly  dim  and  rounded. 
The  meadows  are  bossy  with  little  pine-covered  hills, 
about  which  grow  billowing  wheat  and  broom-corn. 
There  is  no  break  and  leap  of  white  surf;  but  in  the 
meadows,  the  air  will  be  sweetened  by  a  sound  as  gentle 
and  melancholy  as  the  plash,  of  little  waves.  From 
Putnam's  terrace,  looking  one  way,  the  meadows  are 
smooth,  and  variously  striped  and  checkered ;  a  blue 
patch  of  flax  blossoms ;    a  green  strip  of  wheat ;  the 

14* 


322  THE    THINKING   BAYONET. 

russet,  or  umber  of  a  square  left  fallow.  Sumptuous 
are  these  farmers  of  Meadowboro',  paving  over  their 
meadows  with  such  gay  mosaic  and  fine  tesselation,  for 
their  o>vii  feet,  and  the  hoofs  of  their  cattle.  In  the  dis- 
tance are  blue  hills,  range  behind  range,  more  and  more 
faint.  Just  underneath,  the  village  roofs  show  up 
among  the  trees,  with  the  pretty  spire  springing  from 
the  midst,  —  a  spire  altogether  graceful,  and  in  keeping 
with  the  riural   scene   about  it,  —  tapering  smooth  to 

where  it  becomes  the  surmountino:  cross.     It  mlsrht  al- 
es o 

most  be  taken  for  some  natural  growth,  which  sucked 
sweet  juices  from  those  quiet  homes  at  its  root,  then 
grew  upward  to  blossom  at  last  into  the  holy  symbol. 

The  reader  will  be  rejoiced  to  learn,  that  Putnam's 
investments  have,  after  all,  turned  out  well.  A  capi- 
talist was  at  last  caught  by  the  agents  of  the  South 
Goose-Creek  Company,  whose  means,  cast  into  those 
inert  recesses,  were  regurgitated  at  last  in  the  form  of  an 
abundance  of  the  desirable  black  product.  To  such  a 
degree  was  this  the  case,  that  not  he  alone,  but  that 
whole  sad  company  of  share-owners,  began  to  find  the 
stock  remunerative.  Putnam  and  Alice  throve,  there- 
fore ;  and  one  day  they  threw  open  the  chambers,  so 
that  the  perfume  of  the  garden-beds,  the  hum  of  honey- 
bees, and  the  notes  of  all  sweet-throated  birds  went 
through.  It  was  in  honor  of  the  coming  of  Herbert 
and  Leonora,  and  there  he  breathed  in  strength.  Then, 
one  day,  the  two  stood  before  the  old  minister,  —  she 
so  high  and  wide-browed,  and  yet  so  pale,  and  chas- 
tened, and  meek ;     he,  wasted,  and    halting   yet,  but 


ms^iTED.  323 

serene,  and  true,  and  brave,  —  and  gave  themselves  to 
one  another. 

These  were  there,  and  besides  these,  Louisa  May, 
sunny  and  intelligent,  with  hair  a  little  thin,  and  cheek 
a  little  faded,  as  is  natural  in  a  woman  of  thirty,  —  but 
full  of  joy,  as  all  were  full  of  joy,  —  for  had  she  not 
gone  over  it  all  with  Putnam,  although  now,  for  the  first 
time,  she  met  them  face  to  face  ! 

Meantime,  Herbert's  old  colonel  had  not  forgotten  his 
resolve  ;  and,  as  Herbert  grew  stronger,  one  day  there 
came  a  document  from  a  person  high  in  authority,  giv- 
ing him  a  field  position  in  his  old  regiment,  — "a  tardy 
recognition  of  his  merits  and  services,"  said  the  accom- 
panying note,  "  but  at  last  the  country  should  have  the 
benefit  of  his  courage  and  skill  in  a  suitable  position ; 
and  yet,  this  would  only  be  a  step  to  something  higher." 
Herbert  was  to  go  once  more,  and  Leonora  was  to  be 
again  in  her  old  place ;  and,  while  his  full  strength  was 
returning,  for  a  few  weeks  they  all  went  to  familiar 
Honomok,  and,  while  they  were  there,  the  old  minister 
wrote  to  Putnam  as  follows  :  — 

Mr.  Wells  to  Putnam  May. 

"  My  Dear  youxg  Friexd,  —  During  the  late  visit 
of  your  and  my  friends  at  Meadowboro',  it  was  far  less 
often  than  suited  my  desires,  that  I,  oppressed  by  my 
infirmities,  could  come  under  your  roof.  Now,  that 
you  are  some  distance  removed,  these  long'  summer 
days,  I  am  sensibly  oppressed  at  the  privation  of  your 
society,    and   must   needs   resort   to    pen   and   paper, 


324  THE    THmKING   BAYONET. 

« 

whereas,  my  preference  would  be  to  meet  you  face  to 
face. 

"With  a  certain  obstinacy,  our  instinct  bespeaks 
temporal  reward  for  them  that  live  uprightly.  Not 
that  always,  under  the  appointments  of  Providence, 
such  reward  is  bestowed ;  but,  in  instances  of  that  sort, 
however  submissive  we  may  desire  to  be,  we  incline  to 
repugn  against  the  allotment,  and  think,  that,  in  some 
way,  justice  has  been  overslid.  That  phrase  of  Euri- 
pides, as  I  think,  fits  most  aptly  the  general  human  dis- 
position in  this  regard,  —  ^  To  whomsoever  it  happens, 
that  his  house  is  beset  with  calamities,  him  it  behooves, 
worshipping  the  Divine  powers,  to  take  courage :  for  in 
the  end  the  deserving  obtain  their  due.' 

'oT(f)  (T  kTuavvercu 
cvfKpopcuc  oIkoc,  aE(3ovTa  daifiovac  dapaelv  XP^(^' 
dg  Ti}joq  yap  ol  fuv  tad^jol  Tvyxavovoiv  uftuv,' 

luv. 

"In  the  case  of  my  former  pupil,  Herbert  Lee,  (of 
a  truth  to  him  k?MvveTac  Gvu<popai^  olKoq,)  my  confident  heart 
from  the  first  has  presaged  for  him  (forsooth,  in  a  tem- 
per hardly  meek  I  fear) ,  a  fortunate  conclusion  to  his 
woes  ;  and  now  that  he  is  safely  come  through  to  as  fair 
a  measure  of  earthly  bliss  as  man  may  perhaps  attain, 
—  indeed,  indeed,  it  seems  most  fit. 

"Now,  presently  he  goes  forth  again,  happy,  I  doubt 
not,  in  following  out  his  duty ;  and  yet,  I  doubt  not,  it 
is  with  effort  that  he  turns  away  again  from  the  books 
and  contemplations,  toward  which  his  tastes  incline  him. 
To  these  at  last  may  he  revert  is  my  prayer  for  him. 


UNITED. 


325 


Yet  for  now,  I  would  not  have  him  tarry  ;  and,  I  doubt 
not,  that  now  there  burns  within  him  such  fine  fire  as 
glowed  in  the  ancient  patriot.     '  Who  is  so  eager  in  ex- 
amining into  the  nature  of  things,  that  if,  while  he  is 
handling  the  worthiest  objects  of  knowledge,  the  danger 
and  crisis  of  his  country  is  made  known  to  him,  he  will 
not  cast  from  him  all  those  things,  even  if  he  thinks  he 
can  number  the  stars,  or  measure  the  greatness  of  the 
world  !      CQuis  est  tam  cupidus  in  perspicienda  rerum 
natura,  ut,  si  ei,  tractanti  res  cognitione  dignissimas  sit 
allatum  periculum  discrimenque  patriae,  non  ilia  omnia 
abjiciat,  etiam  si  dinumerare  se  Stellas,  aut  metiri  mundi 
magnitudinem  posse  arbitretur  ! ' — De  Offic.  I.  xhii.) 
"  Is  it  vanity  that  I  now  incline  to  call  up  to   your 
thought  my  conviction,  made  known,  I  remember,  to 
you  some  time  since,  though  after  Herbert  Lee  had  so 
rashly  betaken  himself  from  the  society  of  his  friends ; 
or  is  it  pardonable,  that  I  hold  a  degree  of  complacency 
that  my  thought  in  the  matter  has  proved  just?     As  in 
our  vale,  we  esteem  the  thick  fog  of  a  summer's  mom 
to  forerun,  most  surely,  a  transparent  sky  and  unclouded 
sunshine  ;  so  I  hold  that  doubt,  be  it  only  reverently  and 
sincerely  met,  though  it  may  encumber  the  mind  long, 
will  at  last  yield,  and  faith  of  glorious  clearness  shine  in 
its  place.     This  truth  I  hold  to  be  made  plain  in  the  case 
of  this  our  hero  friend,  whom,  when  during  those  fair 
moon-lit  nights,  within  the  sweetness  of  your  garden,  I 
heard  discourse  with  such  high  hope,  and  thought,  too, 
of  the  woes  and  buffetings,  in  the  midst  of  which  that 
hope  had  been  preserved,  — I  became  fired,  old  though 


326  THE    THINKING    BAYONET. 

I  am,  with  the  nobleness  of  his  speech.  At  sight  of  his 
stately  figure,  which  went  forward  so  halt  through  his 
honorable  wounds,  and  his  face  so  high  and  joyous 
(though  pallid),  through  well  earned  peace  and  faith, 
in  my  glow,  methought  such  eulogy  consorted,  as  in 
chivalric  ages  was  rung  out  by  the  loud  singing  harjDcrs, 
in  arching  halls,  to  prince  and  chief,  about  the  most  hon- 
ored knights  ;  and  through  my  spirit,  though  my  lips 
were  mute,  poured  an  old  rhapsody  of  ancient  min- 
strels, who  sang  in  praise  of  Lancelot,  '  Thou  art  the 
courteousest  knight  that  ever  bare  shield ;  and  thou  art 
the  truest  friend  to  thy  lover ;  and  thou  art  the  truest 
lover  of  a  sinful  man  that  ever  loved  woman ;  and  thou 
art  the  kindest  man  that  ever  struck  with  a  sword,  — 
and  thou  art  the  goodliest  person  whoever  came  among 
press  of  knights.'  Even  these  tributes,  methought,  be- 
seemed him,  —  so  smitten  and  peril-beset  in  body  and 
soul ! " 


THE     END. 


Boston :  Printed  by  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

wilmer 
590 


